*Gift
Christmas Cross-stitch 1989
by Elizabeth Ann Izant
Gift
Day 15 — February 24
I have no recollection of the gift I gave to Elizabeth for Christmas in 1989 when we had known each other just four months. But Elizabeth gave me a gift that was personal, meaningful, heartfelt, and timeless. It means even more once you know the whole story.
She wanted to make a memorable Christmas gift and decided to create a personalized cross-stitch. But in 1989 she couldn’t just google “cello design cross-stitch kit with a musical and theological quote” and expect it to be delivered two days later, if such a thing even existed.
So she first researched a quote—most likely at the public library—that included something about both music and theology. The one she found used male language for God and humanity, so she adjusted the words to reflect a more inclusive view, which I truly appreciated. Then she located someone who could design and create the cross-stitch pattern for her, including a cello. All that was the easy part.
The hard part was finishing it by Christmas. She told me that she came home from work and spent time on it every evening, making a big pot of chicken soup for dinner and eating it every night for many days in a row. And then she did that again. And again. As with everything in her life, she was careful and methodical, doing it just right. Plus, she had to complete it with plenty advance time to have time to get it framed.
And she did!
Yes, I was blown away by her effort to create something that was such a gift of herself and her time and her spirit—designed especially for me.
I share this story, so very mindful of the gift that Elizabeth was to me and the tangible and intangible gifts we shared. But also mindful of this day a year ago in the hospital, where the doctors were increasingly confounded by Elizabeth’s medical complications.
I don’t know the name of the speech-language pathologist at UCHealth who was working with Elizabeth last year on February 24, but I will never forget him. He learned that it was my birthday, and several hours later he returned with a couple pieces of cafeteria chocolate cake in plastic clamshell containers. He worked with Elizabeth to say, “Happy Birthday, Kent” with strength and gusto. I can still hear those words echoing today. A gift indeed. And then he and the nurses joined together to sing Happy Birthday as I cried tears of gratitude. And unrelenting despair.
Interestingly, my Mother presented me with a musical cross-stitch for my 24th birthday in 1986. Elizabeth would have had no idea she had chosen the “cello” companion to this “piano” piece.
Day 15: the art of love and loss
view all posts at kentmueller.com
February 10, 2020, was the day my wife, Elizabeth Izant, entered the hospital. She and I were on a hopeful journey following her heart transplant five months prior. On March 1, she entered hospice and died March 11. This series is not about her medical journey. This is about sharing stories and reflections about our life together. In our 29 years of marriage, we collected a piece of art or two each year, often in celebration of our marriage anniversary. Each day from February 10 to March 11, I will be sharing an image of that art. And a story.