sorrow and stitches

Last night was one of those nights when I’m reminded why it is that my friendships are the most important thing in my life. I was on the phone for nearly five hours straight. It was sort of like being twelve again and holing up in our old phone-booth on peninsula drive. I have no idea what I spent so many hours talking about back then, but I had the feeling last night that the topics probably weren’t that different than those that consume us now: the desire for love, the pain of disappointed love, the expectations of family, the need for sympathy. Last night was a night filled with friends whose lives are changing, and I found myself talking on the phone and pulling scraps of fabric from my closet at the same time. As I listened to the pain of recent separation, my fingers started cutting and sewing, arranging and ironing, as if all I could do was start to mend back together friends whose pain was so palpable. I don’t know what I’m sewing, but I know that when I hear the sorrow of those I love, I feel an overwhelming desire to make something beautiful, as if something just lovely enough will make up for all that sadness.