Repurposed with Love

Checking the mail

It wasn’t that long ago that I fell in love with a widowed gentleman. He would check his mail “to see if anybody loved” him, and would return smiling, even if it was only a bill waiting in the box. This gripped me, for I had long loved greeting cards, and bought them randomly over a period of years if they were pretty or amusing or unique. I bought the ones that made me feel something, and that I could imagine others would like. My collection was a reflection of part of me. I bought the cards, yet there had been no reason, no purpose or person in mind other than to recapture the feeling it had given to me the first time I saw it or read it.

Now, I was in love with someone who loved me, and he would say he hadn’t known anyone he could send a letter to, until now. It was another tender way to say he wanted me to feel loved by him, a direct take-off on what he said when he would check his mailbox.

I sent a card to him on a Tuesday, and we married on Friday!

Soon after we married, though we were constantly together, there were times each of us worked when the other didn’t. I would send a note or card for him to receive during my work time. He reciprocated by showing up at my break times with my favorite juice, or a special meal at lunch. We had so much joy, and were very much in love.

Love & Joy (no matter what)

Four months into our marriage, my new husband had a stroke, and then another only six weeks later. He looked the same, and mostly, he was, to everyone else. What people didn’t know is that he was no longer able to read most things, and subtle changes occurred only a person close to him could discern. But, whatever amount of our joy had been there before was now multiplied several times over, because he was alive, and to me, he was the same man with whom I had fallen in love. We put up our Christmas lights and tree in the middle of August after we were informed tests revealed he was out of danger. The gift of more time had been given to us, and we cherished our days, spending all our free time together, because tomorrow isn’t promised.

Little did we know that I would face death three times before the next two years passed. In each situation that we experienced, if the other person were not there, survival was slim to none. After the last close call, I slowly healed, even as we moved across the country. We had been married three years by then, and I witnessed the beginning signs of dementia in him. Of course, I refused to see or believe it. We both outlived so many physical problems, and here was something I did not know how to fix. There was no way to reverse dementia.

We definitely became isolated as it became worse, since we were always each other’s best friend, and did not live near any friends or family.

I do remember my husband checking our mail, and believe me, that was his task. Now, we both looked forward to seeing if anyone loved us, and sometimes a note or card would arrive from our daughter. (I call my stepdaughter my daughter because she asked if I would be her ‘Mom’ and I love her.)

Our daughter’s mail to us would have a drawing or colorful note, and it was the highlight of that day. I have all of these saved, they are treasures from memories worth keeping!

The First Card

A desire began growing in me. I told my husband I wanted to design and make a special card for our daughter and son-in-law’s anniversary. The only issue I faced was that I wanted it to be personal, and not a replica of anything available in stores. I did not have much money. I would look in thrift stores for inspiration, and in our possessions. The search widened, and the most unlikely items spoke to my creative center. That first card I fashioned was made from some things many would have thrown away because they were no longer suitable for their original purpose. I had an old wallet, trim from a pillow, package from a cologne bottle, various snips of ribbons, and a grab bag of stationary and off beat card stock from a local secondhand store.

As I put together a plan for the materials, I thought about my daughter’s life before she met her husband, and his life, too. They were in transition then, still coming to terms after a marriage had ended for each of them, and in shared housing situations. They had just started dating when I was put on life support, and when our daughter was coming to us, this sweet man decided he was coming there also.

(I did not know for a long time that the first time he laid eyes on me I was unconscious, and on a ventilator!)

I thought of how very skinny my little dancer daughter had been when she met this ‘over-the-top’ Texan chef, but when they had visited us after a few years of his delicious food preparation, she was no longer frail in our hugs. The love they had for one another was obvious, too, and it reminded me of the beginning for my husband and I.

When her Daddy and I had met, our jobs were the only thing that was positive or giving our lives purpose, a brief escape, and then love had changed everything. I could not help be reminded of how…

That was it!

We had been re-purposed. We were repurposed, with LOVE.

I began to hastily write the words in a tablet that I would use in the card, smiling and laughing at my own quickie story. Over the next few days, I marked and cut the pieces, and glued them into place. I carefully hand wrote the words. The two characters on the front each hold a heart skyward, and each of the hearts are different colors and patterns, and as I finished putting the words, I decided to create a mosaic heart out of the remaining paper from the two hearts. I smoothed the edges of the tiny pieces with scissors, making them appear more scalloped, overlapping them as I glued them together. After this was dry, I put thin coats of glitter nail polish inherited from my mother. Their two hearts had become one, and it was larger and sparkly.

The words from the front, in a thought bubble from both figures:

‘You know what it is capable of, Oh God, repurpose my heart for LOVE!’

Inside:

‘Once Upon a Time, a Classy Gypsy Dancer met a Handsome Cheffin’ Texan. Each of them saw something special in the other. He wanted to know what he could do for her, and she said,

“I just want you to love me more."

“What does that mean?” asked the Handsome Cheffin’ Texan.

“I will show you,” she said.

So, the Classy Gypsy Dancer loved him more, which gave her peace, and the Handsome Cheffin’ Texan learned to dance inside his heart for only her.’

The words adjacent to the mosaic heart, at the bottom:

‘Thus, because he knew what they were capable of, God repurposed their hearts for LOVE!’

When you’re happy and you know it…Make a card!

The response to the card was more than I expected, and I think my husband and I were as excited or more than they were! From that point on, potential card makings were everywhere! We began to leave exclusively to search out what could be used for future designs, checking in thrift stores or yard sales, and when I mentioned to others what we were seeking, a few times they retrieved items that might work, frequently giving them instead of selling. The first few cards were gifts to family, though as the holiday season approached, I knew I wanted to share my latest idea. I decided to use cookie cutter shapes and a road atlas to give a personalized version to each recipient. I chose locations in the map that were where they lived, or where they were from. Alternately, I used locations that were special to the person or family, such as their honeymoon spot or vacation place. I made hearts and holiday or Christmas trees, adorning them minimally with sequins because I wanted their special location to show. My card stock wasn’t traditional colors of the holiday. If anything, I was reminded more of summer and fall because of all the cheerful oranges, yellows, and earthy tones. The more I shared, the more others shared with me, giving more ribbon, nail polish, and my first pieces of fabric.

I used deconstructed fake flowers, dolling them up with glittery paints, snipping apart their jagged plastic base to use for spiky hair on my ‘Vagabond Birthday Angels’ card. It was fun, it felt good to remind people they were in our thoughts, though we were far from them or had not seen them in a while.

Little by little, my husband became more involved in the actual artistic part, and this was true even though dementia was advancing. Television or movies caused his dementia episodes to be much worse, and longer, and the tasks and time spent on the cards was all positive. He began to make a suggestion here and there, and I was so happy to see that spark in him, and every snowman with a hat owes it to his consideration. He didn’t want them to be TOO cold!

Yes, I did send out cards to my husband, though it was bittersweet one day when he said, “Look what my wife sent to me.”

We were safe, happy and in love, and I knew it enough for both of us.

“Would you make a card for me?”

I made an album of some the cards which I had photographed, and shared it on Facebook. People reached out, including a few with whom I was barely acquainted, asking if I would make a card for them. Previously, my cards were consistently based on what I knew about the person or our memories together, our relationship to one another. I wanted every card to be special, so what should I do now? I decided in the absence of not knowing much about the other person, or their family, the best thing I could do is to make a beautiful card to show the relevance of repurposing. I included a note about what the different components of the card had been in their past life as well. Two people sent more things for my supplies, including a box of fabric remnants. I added these new colorful pieces to my saved old blue jeans, dreaming of future cards.

As the winter holidays approached, there were now three times as many people on our card list. I wasn’t sure where to start. I mentioned it to an old friend, she let me know she would be happier when that time of year was behind us. To make her point, she changed her profile picture to the Grinch. I began laughing. She had just inspired my first card of the season! I crafted an ‘Anti-Christmas’ card just for her, sporting a holiday tree with a red general prohibition symbol. You know the one, with the circle backslash that means ‘NO’.

It was GREAT. I wrote,

‘This Christmas, give her what she really wants! (then, inside) DECEMBER 26TH!’

My husband and I made 93 cards and sent them. The best part was that he painted, because by this time, few things were more solid in our lives than going to the park and making cards.

Christmas is Forever

My husband was not a big lover of Christmas prior to that first year when we decorated in August. He was the one who told me when he was asked what he wanted for Christmas, he would quip,

“December 26th.”

I proposed taking down our decorations after we welcomed the new year, and he moved his recliner in front of the tree and said it wasn’t hurting anything and it was the prettiest thing in the house.

The tree and lights remained. My husband did not. His final happy moments were in front of our little display, which included cards people had sent, reminders that someone thought of us. He experienced a hemorrhagic stroke in March, right there, surrounded by love.

That last season of card making, many of the cards had the following message:

‘The Spirit of Christmas is really that love in our hearts that we have for each other.”

I believe creating helped us. Dementia is destructive and cruel, yet we never let it steal our joy, and we did it as a couple. It’s really something how you might be having a pretty down day, and then you step outside of it to be kind to others and it makes everything better.

‘I don’t know YOU, but I KNOW’

I packed up the Christmas display in June, and one month later, I moved in with the neighbor that owned the house next to mine. She was also a widow, and became a friend. Most of my possessions had been placed in storage, including my art supplies. I didn’t know if I would ever make another card. I had my memories.

My new housemate found a boyfriend that lived a few hours away and spent a lot of her time there and with her grandchildren. When it was closer to Christmas, I found out her boyfriend’s mother was having her first holiday season as a widow, after 70 years of marriage. For the first time in a long time, I yearned to create a card. This woman had lost her husband around the same time as myself, and she was alone. I cried, and then smiled. I was going to make a card. I recalled that my friend had worn lavender and purple when she met this lady, because those were her favorite colors, and she wanted to make a favorable impression.

The search was on. I collected a few things I might be able to use for the card, then went to the thrift stores, and a local discount general store. I splurged on one new item, a large bag of all kinds of sequins of various shapes, sizes and colors, then made sure I had tacky glue and double stick tape. I had enough supplies for many cards, and caught myself chuckling.

When I had the house to myself, I pulled everything out to get to work. Making a card by myself made me realize just how much my husband had helped me when we made cards!

I thought, as I placed the completed card aside to dry, of when virtual strangers had requested cards from us, and I had not been sure how to proceed. Now, here I was creating for a woman I didn’t know because I might know how she was feeling. I hoped the card would help her feel better. I felt better.

Happy Birthday

I moved to an area that was hours away where I didn’t know anyone, possibly to prove to myself I could, and then found out I required surgery. My daughter made plans to come see me and take me to the surgery, and then take me home. Wouldn’t you know it, the surgery date was changed. She made the trip anyway, which coincided with her birthday.

I had not created any cards for her or anyone I knew since becoming a widow, only the one for the widow I never actually met.

I couldn’t wait to see my daughter, and I had made a card for her! It was the first card I had made with that kind of rejoicing in so very long, and I hoped she would feel how much I loved her as I made it.

It meant so much to me because I was going to be able to see her as she opened it, and though there have been many Repurposed with Love cards for her and others, I usually do not see them receive it. It is no less exciting for me to imagine when they get their card. Love without an audience is love, too.

What hobbies?

I have a dear friend that had been encouraging me to get some hobbies for myself, and more than once I had thought, ‘I don’t need hobbies.’ When I moved closer to them a couple of years ago, we decided to make a card one day when they were visiting. It felt odd trying to show someone what I used to do easily with my late husband, and without discussion. It seemed as though I were ‘out of practice’!

I found myself pondering whether it was still the same if the card was not being made for a specific person. To my friend, it was simply making a card, though to me, creating cards had a completely different connotation. My husband and I had reached out with those cards made from what wasn’t wanted, a way for us to connect from the sequestered position we had been in, and it had become this rare and memorable time together, too. I made two more cards that year, and it dawned on me that they were very sedate in comparison to the bright yellow and orange with sequins from a few years ago. They were beautiful, simply a more serious visual, even elegant. I had found some exquisite fabrics in a funky junk store, of all places. I chose to believe it was the materials, not the artist, making a mental note to find some brighter tones.

2020: The End is Near?

When you hear 2020, what comes to mind first? I know many might say Covid. It was a transformative year for people in a variety of ways, and the impact will exist in one form or another from here on out. Quite early in the year, I was already social distancing. That was not too significant, it mainly meant I stayed out of stores, and made a mask for when I did go.

I had increasing pain that turned out to be a severe infection, and when I was seen by a podiatrist, he said amputation. He prescribed stronger antibiotics than the ones from my regular doctor, though voiced little hope for recovery. An allergic reaction to the new antibiotics sent me to the emergency room blinded from lymphatic fluid flooding my tissues, my body ravaged and raw overnight.

Needles, and steroids, and pills, Oh my!

I was switched back to the weaker antibiotic. I returned to have follow-up with my regular provider, and received an injection. On my way out of the clinic, I fell and broke my ankle above the infected foot. I drove over two hours to return home, and drove another hour to see the podiatrist the next day in extreme pain, hardly able to walk, not yet knowing I had broken a bone. (I was using my husband’s old walker.)

The doctor offered to x-ray before I left, and I found out it was a long vertical fracture. He said I must have surgery, no walking for months, and I would be in a skilled nursing facility for the duration. When I asked if he knew much about the heart conditions I have dealt with since puberty, he admitted he did not. Covid was on my mind as well, and the repeated situations of widespread transmission within resident patient facilities. He said I could try healing at home as long as the fracture did not move. He issued specific instructions including no walking, no bathing, and keeping the leg elevated. I was supposed to obtain a caregiver, and despite my best efforts, that didn’t happen because of the pandemic. The landlord asked a neighbor to help, and I at least had transportation to the podiatrist.

I ordered medical aids and rinse-free hair and body cleanser. I ordered first aid for my infection. I ordered food. I waited, in the heat of summer, trying to sleep and heal. The antibiotics continued.

I wished my card making supplies were with me, because though I was on my back, I could freestyle all kinds of ideas with scissors and some of my fabric and paper. I began to appreciate what my friend says about having hobbies, things to sharpen ourselves and occupy time.

Despite my pain and weakness from the infection and additional lateral injuries from when I fell, I was grateful. There had been times in my life when I couldn’t breathe on my own, couldn’t remember, and lost consciousness without warning. Life’s worst pain has been psychological, and I was not going to make infections and broken bones out to be worse than necessary. I really didn’t want my loved ones and friends to worry. I felt like even though my body was struggling, that time on my own ‘hit the pause button’ and brought out the sweetness of my life in sharp contrast.

2020: ‘A friend in need is a friend indeed.’

My friend, the ‘defender of hobbies’, came to visit following completion of a work contract. When they saw my condition, they stayed. The weeks had become months, and an indistinct blur. There was no question I was in need.

Some people operate like shadows you hide in on hot, sunny days, a cloak of coolness that bears no weight, standing in light to quietly reach their silent objective. This is my friend.

After two months of acquiescing to extra servings of nutrient-dense meals, I was improving. I received treatment for severe vitamin D deficiency, and was approved for a bone growth stimulator.

Then, encouraging news! I would not require amputation! The time prescribed elevating my leg and resting had helped reverse the infection! A minimally invasive surgical procedure was performed, and I didn’t have to spend all my time in the bed. Though my ankle was far from healed, the break was stable and new bone was gradually forming.

My friend retrieved their art supplies and brought them to my house, then pulled down mine so I could reach them. They had all the colors and more that I had been dreaming of, and together we had several totes of fabrics, papers, ribbons, oddball embellishments of every sort, galaxies of sequins, flowers, eyeballs, paints and glitters! My box of saved pieces that are trimmed off during the creation of cards was there, too. It was full of tiny representations of cards I had made with my late husband, such as fabric, leather, lace, paper, ribbon.

My friend and I started making cards, discussing ideas, then trying out different ones randomly. This was a new experience for me to feel so free, and we challenged ourselves to make twenty cards each. It was not a competition, and we agreed they should reach a high standard. The deadline was the year’s end.

We are inspired by one another’s efforts, and it was true as I implemented their ways with my own, and vice versa. I made a card from many of my favorite pieces from past cards, a happy tree which I sent to my friend I lived with after I became a widow. Two more cards were made for a cousin’s young girls, and of course, cards for my daughter and son-in-law.

Then it hit me, I was simply creating with JOY.

The End

The irony has never escaped me that we often cut to create, and that it has always been difficult for me to throw away the bits and scraps. In the same manner, people and things are cut from our lives. Sometimes we are the artists, eliminating those parts that no longer enrich us, and other times, we may feel like we are those bits and scraps that no longer fit in a grander dynamic.

Thirteen years ago, my brother tried to kill me. He stopped when I passed out, and when I regained consciousness, he told me I was “not worth going to prison for,” and to never look at him or talk to him again.

He lived in the home of another sibling until this year. One day I received a call that he had been told to leave, and he had my phone number. He called the next day, sounding like the little boy I used to know, sobbing. I had never asked or prayed for that day to come, only that he would someday have healthy relationships, and have happiness.

A tenet of my faith is forgiveness. I thought maybe this was a chance to help him move forward, and he sounded nothing like the dark teenager I had known.

My friend could hear the call, and they said they would be there if I wanted to have him come up and stay with us. The plan was for him to complete application to the Air Force. That is exactly what happened, and he was due to be sworn in, though meanwhile a much darker side to him was being revealed in my home. I did not want to see it. I thought he would be gone soon, and he was, except it was not in the way that I expected.

Five weeks after his arrival, my brother came from behind my friend, striking them repeatedly in the head with a hammer. My friend was able to rise, further fending off attack on us when my brother tried to use a knife. My friend was bitten in the face and head as they held the knife blade, and their hands were cut. My main injuries were broken bones in my foot when I tried to pull my brother away, then ended up beneath them. They fought, my friend getting them away from me, and I called the police.

That was two months ago, and my brother is being held without bail on charges of Attempted Murder and Felony Harassment, both with enhancements. He had written about his plans, found the following day, and a frightening array of tools and weapons. He was additionally charged with violating the Protective Order because he sent his cellmate to my home.

I had shared my life with my brother during his short time here. He met my doctor, friends on Zoom, my daughter, all my neighbors. The Air Force recruiter was especially stunned.

We are healing, my friend and I. They have not been able to return to work, and we are packing, preparing to move. Medical and psychological treatment continues, though I know it is not possible to make sense of the senseless.

The Beginning

It was not easy to tell my daughter what happened. She is 2500 miles away, yet distance does not prevent us from feeling involved in those events that can be life changing, whether they are good or bad.

The last card I made was their anniversary card, colorful and light-hearted, with two teddy bears on the front. Inside I wrote, ‘Here’s to love, when every day beyond a year is anniversary of the day we had together a year before. May every one of those days be a cherished blessing! I love you both.’

My cards are love, plain and simple. That is the foundation of their power to provide artistry, fun, happiness, and hope. But, when I told my daughter what had happened, I wanted to hug her, and I wanted her to hug my friend and I, too.

I couldn’t imagine creating a card. I wanted to, and just couldn’t. My broken bones suddenly seemed like a very small thing compared to the pain, confusion and anger inside. My best friend, truly family to me, had nearly been killed.

I hadn’t realized how what happened to us was affecting my daughter until she said the boss had come to her with concern because she could tell something was bothering her. My daughter confided in her the details, which was met with care, not only for her, but us as well.

I was far away, yet someone, not even a friend or relative, had been there for myself and those I call family.

Similar happened with a few others, and that’s all it took to inspire me again to create. Somehow, it was different this time. I knew it as I looked at my art supplies that my next card was symbolic. My friend and I went to the craft store, choosing new fabrics and findings so I could make a card as a gift for my daughter’s employer. I intentionally wanted to utilize as many new materials as possible for this particular card. Only two small items on the card had a past life, a cross and an angel that were both earrings. My friend used a grinding tool to smooth the back of them. The cross is one thing I have in common with the recipient, our faith, and also my daughter. The angel is because people can be the angels to one another that we need in everyday life. It’s kindness, and consideration for those in your circle of influence.

You may wonder why did an ardent proponent of repurposing buy new this time?

The reason is that by virtue of grace and choice, I am the part of this card’s conception that is given new life and happiness as I think of what inspired it, and in this I AM…Repurposed with Love.