{"id":10736,"date":"2024-03-02T08:10:45","date_gmt":"2024-03-02T07:10:45","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/waltin.se\/josefinwaltinspinner\/?p=10736"},"modified":"2024-03-02T09:59:35","modified_gmt":"2024-03-02T08:59:35","slug":"a-simple-letter","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/waltin.se\/josefinwaltinspinner\/a-simple-letter\/","title":{"rendered":"A simple letter"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Today I reflect over the complexity of a simple letter stitched onto a kitchen towel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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\"Hands<\/figure>\n\n\n\n
\"Hands<\/figure>\n\n\n\n
\"Hands<\/figure>\n
Stitching a simple letter, filled with complex emotions.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

One cross for the first row; three the second; two, one empty, one, one empty and another two on the third. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

x<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m stitching a simple letter, \u2018I\u2018, on the last of three thrifted and handwoven linen towels, \u2018I\u2018 as the initial letter of my son\u2019s first name. Just a straight line, really, but in the scheme things, so much more. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

xxx<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m writing this on his 21st birthday. He spent the morning looking at an apartment. He is so ready to move into a place of his own, to find his space in the world outside of our bosom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

xx x xx<\/p>\n\n\n\n

With all my heart I wish for him to take that step into adulthood. At the same time I know it will feel so empty without him, even if I\u2019m lucky enough to just brush by him when our vastly differing rhythms meet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

x xxxxx x<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cross by cross the letter reveals itself. Slowly, I stitch my reflections of his journey since the day he was born and we took him home in a rush of bliss mixed with terror of that new life we had brought into the world. A child was born that day, but also two brand new parents. From that moment there was no button to press for someone to come and assist the clueless new mother that was me. A heartbeat later he is now a grown man. One era is ending, another one beginning. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

x x x x<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I won\u2019t lie, we do have plans for his room when he does move out, to fill it with new furniture and new functions. But what about the space he is leaving in the living, breathing organism that is this household? What about the remaining three of us when one leaves the nest, even if it\u2019s only only on a metro ride\u2019s distance? How will we inhabit the rearranged organism?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

x x<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His shoes will be placed in another hallway, he will dry his dishes on that monogrammed towel, buy his own shower curtain and laundry basket, wake up with the morning light from another angle. Will he realize one Thursday afternoon that he doesn\u2019t have a watering pot or a potato peeler (which, come to think of it, he actually does). Will he call to ask for the recipe of my grandmother\u2019s birthday cake (and secretly to hear our voices) for a significant other? Will he see the sky from his bed?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

x x<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Will he miss having us around? Wait, I don\u2019t want him to. Well, a little. But I want him to explore the world for himself, just as he did when he was three and explored every rock, stick and moss covered tree trunk he passed. He will stumble and fall, just as he did then. And he will rise again and move forward in the world and in the spirit that is he.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

xxxxx<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Perhaps I should hide his things so that he will have to come home every now and then to look for them, for the chance for me to brush by him again?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

x x<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stitch the tenth row of crosses and wonder how he will settle in his new apartment once he gets one. I wonder when he starts calling it his home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

x x<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I remember when I moved into my first apartment, just a few kilometers from where my parents still live. It started when I was accepted to the university at 20. I called the student admission from a phone booth, Dan stood outside holding his breath. And I almost cried when I got the reply: I had been admitted to the basic course in linguistics. That, in turn, meant that I would be able to take a student loan and pay my own rent. Once I got the apartment a month later, my mother took me to a hardware store and bought me a toolbox filled with tools, just as her parents had when she moved out. I was so excited.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

x x x x<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oh, to experience that first night in one\u2019s very first own home. That sense of novelty and unfamiliarity that gradually, seamlessly will turn into tuesdayness, coming home to parents for that first post-move-out Sunday dinner with a feeling of a new skin, with the old one still lingering in the shadows.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

x x x x<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wonder what the first night in his new home will be like, if he wonders about the unfamiliar sounds around him, if the air smells differently, if he will learn to recognize all the dents, cracks and fossils in the staircase. I wonder what trees he will see from his kitchen window.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

x xxxxx x<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What will his neighborhood be like? Will he explore it and happily get lost among houses and streets? Will he find a favorite baker around the corner and chat with his new neighbours? I wonder if he will let his sister hang out at his place and they be brother and sister just as usual for a while. I was struck by how sad I was when my big brother moved out, and to another town. We had been close and it wasn’t the same without him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

xx x x xx<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oh, this must be the essence of bittersweetness, having guided a child into adulthood, and seeing him take flight and treadle his own path. Being thrown between pride and pain in one single breath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

xxx<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m not getting him a toolbox filled with tools, he and his sister got one each when they were five, and they know how to use them. Their boxes stand next to the one I got all those years ago.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

x<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The stitches in the towel is a reminder that he is ready for his own household now. I weave in the ends after the last stitch and wonder how he will wake up to his 22nd birthday.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"Hands
The \u2018I\u2018 is finished and I add the towel to the finished two.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Happy spinning!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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You can find me in several social media:<\/h2>\n\n\n\n