Stuffed full of love

My story begins with my father.

Two years ago next week, on June 11, 2019, my father drew his last breath, while I slumbered on a hide-a-bed in his hospital room. He was 80 years old, and was fighting his second bout with cancer. This time, it had spread into his brain and his bones, and there was no winning the fight -- though he had fought valiantly. He left behind a devastated wife, sons, a daughter, grandkids, step-grandkids, great-grandkids, and innumerable friends and acquaintances, all struggling to cope with the idea of a world without this larger-than-life man who had built a life and a legacy out of practically nothing.

It was particularly rough on the great-grandkids, many of whom were still very, very young, and incredibly fond of their "Grampa LD". One of them was born only 4 days before he passed -- we're convinced that even though he's always claimed not to be great with kids, he hung on long enough to get to meet his littlest great-granddaughter. As soon as she was released from the hospital, my niece and her family packed everyone into the car and drove a few hours to the hospital in the neighboring state where my dad had spent his final days. He got to meet the baby on June 10, when she was 3 days old. The next morning, he didn't awaken.

It was a year before my mom was really able to bring herself to start going through his things, letting family members take treasured mementos of him and pick through his closet full of clothes. Many of his shirts were passed over, worn and ragged at the neck from the thick, coarse whiskers that stubbornly defied his efforts to keep his face clean-shaven. Mom had a pile of them that no one had wanted, but that she hated to throw away because of their sentimental value. My father and mother had started a motorcycle dealership from the ground up, and ran it for 40 years before they retired. His closet was full of vintage motorcycle t-shirts, as well as shirts from the golf car and snowmobile divisions that also comprised the family business.

When mom was lamenting that she didn't have anything she could do with this huge pile of shirts, I had an idea. I'm the artsy-craftsy one in the family, the maker of things, the improviser. I offered to take these shirts, my sewing machine, and my sewing shears, and turn them into something to treasure. At first, I had considered a T-shirt blanket, but that would use up a lot of shirts but bring comfort to only one or two family members. Instead, I decided to make throw pillows for each of the families. Something we could hug or lay our heads upon when we were missing my Dad. Something that could always be around, as a tangible reminder of who he was.

I spent nearly every weekend in the summer of 2020 at my mom's cottage, setting up my very own little sweatshop on her dining table and churning out pillows that were claimed as quickly as they were made. This, of course, left me still with a pile of fabric scraps that I didn't have the heart to throw away... but what could I do with them? Most of it was plain colored fabric, though some had a smaller logo, or a tag with a Harley emblem, that could be made use of. Then came the "ah-ha!" moment, when I realized that there was enough fabric there to make stuffed animals for each of the great-grandkids so that they, too, would have their own little memento of their Great-grampa. Something to play with, to hug, and to remember good times.

Initially, I had thought to make teddy bears, but then I stumbled across some pattern sets that had instructions and pieces for a variety of different animals, and I realized that this would probably work even better, allowing me to use up all but the tiniest of the scraps, and it would also make the gifts personalized for each child. I reached out to my nephews and nieces and asked them to tell me their kids' favorite animals. Then, list in hand, I began my work.

Mom helped out by tracing the pattern pieces onto heavier paper (since the tissue paper it comes on is so easy to tear) and then by helping to cut out pattern pieces with scissors, once I had selected the combination of colors and patterns to use for each animal. I believe this whole project was incredibly cathartic for both of us, helping to ease the pain of letting go, and it brought us closer together as a result. We spent more time together last summer than we had in years, and there was nothing quite as satisfying as seeing the faces of each kid as they received their requested animals.

I was not always perfectly satisfied with the results -- some of those shapes were HARD to put together!! -- and my seam ripper and I became VERY well acquainted, but in the end each of the children was delighted with his or her gift. All in all, I made 2 frogs, a hippo, a horse, a cat, and a bear, as well as a little pair of pants, a whole bunch of pillows, and a slew of good memories.

There are still a few more shirts left that I can work with this year, if we decide to make more -- or, more likely, if it becomes necessary to make replacements for some of the animals that have been roughhoused with and loved hard in the past year. I'm told that, once Mom came back from wintering in Florida, the great-grandkids that live nearest her kept asking when Aunt Wendy was coming back, because she needed to fix holes that had torn in their toys. Mom offered to fix them herself, but the boys insisted that no, it had to be me -- and I don't mind a bit. I'm not mad that they played with them -- that was the whole point. I WANTED them to be loved on and played with, rather than gathering dust on a shelf. They were made from scraps of old, worn out shirts that would otherwise have been destined for the landfill, but now those kids can make a few last memories with "Grampa LD". That makes it all worthwhile.