Thursday, April 30, 2015

Sorrow Stitching

Connie has given me something to think about this morning.  My dear godmother stitched through her cancer diagnosis and treatment.  I stitched when my father fell mysteriously ill.  I stitched when my brother died.

Sometimes needlepoint is all that keeps us sane.

Sometimes needlepoint heals.

Written by Jane/Chilly Hollow
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© Copyright April 19, 2015 Jane M. Wood. All rights reserved.


  1. Thank you, Jane, for printing this. My husband passed away two weeks ago. I have the blahs and felt I shouldn't be needlepointing, but it is such a comfort for me.

    1. Sometimes, Judy, stitching is the only thing one can manage. I stitched obsessively on a Maggie Lane piece when my dad was in the hospital for diagnostic tests and stitched for 10 hours straight after coming home from my brother's funeral. It helps. Oddly enough, I never finished either piece but they served their purpose.

  2. I knitted the biggest afghan ever during the last few weeks of my mother's life when I was there on the weekends and then after she died for about a week, wrapping things up and getting my father squared away (along with my two sisters). I did finish it, but only stopped after I realized that it was soooooo long.