Sewing Box

No one’s going to get this but my kids.  All of my life, there is one suitcase I have kept packed.  I have carried it with me since my childhood.  It was given to me when I was 12 years old, right in the middle of the abuse I was victim to.  It was a special suitcase, one that I’d specifically asked for, to the puzzlement of my mother and aunts.  I wanted one of those plastic yellow boxes with a handle on it to hold sewing stuff.

Now I’m not some fantastic seamstress and never had any designs to be one.  I can sew and I can mend.  I’ve mended rips to both cloth and torn spirits since receiving that box, over and over, and no matter where I was in my life, where I was in any given relationship, moving here and there, that yellow sewing box, my little plastic suitcase of thread and needles has been the one thing I never unpacked.  It came with me everywhere, every apartment, every house, through every relationship, always ready when it was time for me to move on, held together with dust and one broken hinge.

I unpacked that little yellow box today, completely unpacked and emptied.  Everything went into Grandma’s sewing table. I don’t need that little suitcase anymore. I’m done moving on.  I loved that little yellow box, and it served it’s purpose.  For 39 years and 9 months that little plastic box has held my mending things together while I tried so hard to hold my life together.

It’s time to put that little box to rest. I’m home, this time for always.

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~ by Spider Lily on September 26, 2010.

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