When the Beaded Lady Bloomed

We met through my husband.  He saw me working on a beaded necklace and said, “You would love her!  She’s super sweet and loves to use tiny beads for jewelry making as well.”

 

He was right.  She was welcoming, loved to laugh, always encouraging, and was willing to help show a new beading pattern.  Her garden was filled with flowers and veggies. She could cook like nobody’s business, no measuring, just knew what was tasty. She and her husband would repeat or say in sync what the other person was saying.  Showing pictures of her grandchildren brought a bright smile to her face.  When Gregory was born, she was quick to want baby hugs.  She and her husband would think of Gregory when they saw something he might like.

 

She introduced me to like-minded beading friends.  What a blessing of friends!

 

We were there to see her before she passed.  Her husband had taken good care of her.  Her face was soft, gentle.  

 

Her husband later said, “I have things here that the kids didn’t take.”  He handed me a beaded lady that was meant to go on the wall once complete.  He said, “I’m giving this to you, because I think you will do something with it.”   I didn’t have the pattern to finish it.  Every time I started a new project, I wondered whether it was time for the beaded lady. 

 

Years drifted and each time I saw the beaded lady, I thought of her.  Then one day I realized, “This time I know how to complete her..”  I was nervous.  Would the beads hold?  Would it look weird with other painted flowers, so I added texture into the background.  Looking back, it feels fitting that she ended up surrounded by flowers once again.  I like that the painting is a combination of the two of us, a collaboration across time.

 

The beaded lady found her home, and every flower around her reminds me that kindness has a way of blooming long after we’re gone.  Whenever I walk by this painting, I think of your laughter, Sally.  Thank you for shining a bright candle in this world.