Memories

A Time for Memories

As I sort through the scraps of fabric for my next project, I realize they aren’t really scraps at all. They’re pieces of moments I’ve lived. A corner of a dress I once made for Zoe. A sliver of a shirt that belonged to Seth. Colors and textures that once wrapped themselves around ordinary days and made them feel like something worth remembering.

It’s funny how fabric holds memory better than we do. I pick up a floral print and suddenly I’m back in the kitchen, hemming a dress while Zoe twirled around impatiently, asking if it was ready yet. I touch a soft blue cotton and I can almost hear Seth laughing as he tried it on for the first time, pretending to model like he was on a runway.

These scraps carry the weight of those small, perfect moments — the ones that slip out of our minds but stay stitched into the things we make. Working with them now feels like opening a box of old photographs, except the memories are tactile. They’re warm. They’re alive.

Maybe that’s why this project feels different. I’m not just sewing. I’m piecing together a quiet archive of the life we’ve lived. Letting the past sit beside me for a while. Letting it remind me that even the simplest days had their own kind of beauty.

And maybe that’s what this time is for — not to dwell on what’s gone, but to honor it.