Bits of Bright Colors

My friend Karen had the most beautiful and skilled hands. From the time I met her when I was a teenager and she was just graduated from college and newly married, Karen was keenly interested in making things with her hands. She was particularly comfortable with a needle and thread as her instruments, although she could whip out knitting needles and crochet hooks with equal ease. She was drawn to color and texture the way I might be drawn to sweetness and salt. They were the elements with which she played.

When Karen became sick about a year and a half ago, her ability to speak was compromised, she developed double vision, and walking became difficult. However, on one visit some 9 or 10 months back, I found her knitting a complicated cabled sweater pattern in a gorgeous Chinese red color. She was knitting more slowly than usual, but she was doing something that I would not have been able to do on my best day. The desire to create hadn't diminished.

Karen would always find the tiniest spot of color in my outfit or jewelry and want to check it out. I wear a blessing cord on my wrist. Its a piece of shiny string knotted by a Buddhist monk and imbued with his blessings. Karen's eyes and hands would wander to that spot of red or yellow and she would rub it between her fingers checking for fiber content and feel. It was a routine with us.

This past week, I made my final trip to spend time with my darling friend. When I arrived, she was in the hospital, no longer able to speak or move under her own strength. As I leaned on the rail of her bed, I watched once as her eyes went to the yellow cord on my wrist and her hand moved just a tiny bit. I put my wrist down near her hand and lifted her fingers to the cord. There was a touch, ever so slight. In my heart, I felt that at that moment, she was both blessing and blessed.

The end of Karen's journey began on Wednesday evening shortly after moving to a hospice facility. For a few hours in the late evening, she was surrounded by the women who had loved her for years and had provided sweet care and protection to both Karen and Jimi throughout her illness. Her quilting friends. Women who had become friends sitting and sewing together, now encircled one of their own, massaging her arms and legs and singing quietly in sweet high voices. There would be times with hushed chatting, even soft laughter, but always hands that stroked her arms and legs and kisses that brushed her forehead and cheeks.

My sweet sister/friend, my executive chef, my mentor and confidant has gone on, but look at how much beauty she has left in legacy. While I was away, Kurt obtained many strings of Tibetan prayer flags to place outside in the sun and wind. They are made up of squares of red, blue, yellow, green and white cloth that are imprinted with text and images meant to spread goodness into the wind as they break down. I smiled as I opened the packages of brightly colored, stiff, gauzy new fabric. I imagined that beautiful, skilled hand reaching over to rub the cloth between her fingers to check for texture and drape.

Yes, just look at how much beauty our Karen has left us.