Uncle Lily

Yesterday my grandmother told me that Lily, her friend and neighbor since my mother was a small child, had passed away this past week.

When I was very small I called her Uncle Lily, I suppose because she had a gravelly voice and was quite loud. Lily was a professional seamstress, and when she had a new house built for herself, maybe 30 years ago, she had a huge extra room added on -- large enough to set up a king size quilt frame without having to crawl under it to get to the other side. Lily also critiqued my early attempts at sewing, explaining to me at around age 6 that seams should not be done in blanket stitch, and at age 20 inspecting my first untutored attempts at mitering the edge of a poncho. She made doll clothes for all my Barbies. She made a lovely satin quilt (it slides off the bed, so is rarely used) for me, and stitched her signature on the backing, "Uncle Lily". She continued to crochet even when her eyesight was too poor to sew or do other handwork, covering clothes hangers. When I brought Arabella to Texas 3 years ago, Lily, already unable to get around and on oxygen, absolutely glowed when I held Arabella out to her. Although I had seen that intensity on her face, the pure love and joy was a wonder to behold. My biggest regret is that I didn't have my camera to take a picture of her holding Arabella. I had hoped that when Arabella and I make our way to Texas next month that we would be ableto visit Lily, I was sure for the last time, but the glow on her face 3 years ago will have to suffice. We will miss you very much.