My husband was diagnosed with Stage 4 Cancer on March 4, 2025. Brian initially had symptoms that were being treated as an infection. After a couple of rounds of antibiotics and an ER visit, a CT scan showed us a mass that was the source of the problem. He passed away at our home on May 12, 2025. Being home with the people and music he loved was his wish, and I’m thankful I was able to give him that peace as he transitioned from this world.
I am now suddenly no longer a caretaker; I am alone in our home, and everything feels on its head. I burst into tears at seemingly random moments. But there is nothing random at all about the tears if I think about it for a moment. It will be a song, a word, a place...anything that reminds me I will not see or touch him again.
Through the ever-shifting medical landscape, I carried with me the fiber art skills handed down to me.
With the diagnosis, I knew I would be spending a significant amount of time in the hospital, in waiting rooms, sitting with my husband. I developed an embroidery project. What meaning do certain flowers signify? What colors are associated with resilience? We were told from the outset that this diagnosis meant the cancer was inoperable and that the cancer would never completely leave Brian’s body, even with the most successful treatment. The infections never eased, and we were never given the opportunity to consider beginning the recommended treatment.
I chose a sunflower because it can represent warmth, positive energy, and resilience. I created a template, applied the design to some old denim, and began. I can see myself sitting in a hospital room as blood was taken, as we watched marathons of Bar Rescue together. We talked about everything happening and tried to feel normal by laughing at Two and a Half Men as medical personnel came and went, and as increasingly dire results and developments were shared, I embroidered.
As I embroidered, I also pondered exactly how I would use this sunflower. It came to me that I would create a small tapestry to display. We have a spot in our entryway where we hang wreaths in the fall and for the holidays. I have never had anything to display there for the remainder of the year. Here is the perfect solution. The yellows and oranges are lovely and bright against the midnight blue of the denim remnant.
When I look at the completed tapestry hanging in our home, I remember everything we experienced together as I put my hands to this piece. The sunflower reminds me of vitality, warmth, and the bright sparks of our relationship, and it speaks to the resiliency I am building to take the steps to continue to move forward.
When I completed the piece, I wasn’t sure what to make for the companion piece. We had a second space to fill, after all. My daughter asked me, “What’s Brian’s favorite flower?” Considering how much my husband and I shared seemingly endless stories with each other and sat at so many bars laughing together as we talked movies, sports, food, music... a favorite flower never came up. And no one had asked him in his recollection. He thought about it for a day or so and then sent me a screenshot of a white tulip. He wanted the white tulip to include blue accents. I worked on a template and created a mockup on tracing paper using the decided-upon colors. Upon his approval, I purchased the needed floss. I was able to show it to him before he passed away, and I began embroidering on it afterward.
Tulips are associated with perfect love and deep affection, as well as peace and new beginnings. Could Brian’s favorite bloom be any more apt?
Since Brian died, throughout the day, I find myself at a loss for what to do or where to step. I’ve found myself pacing in circles from room to room. When this happens, I go to my project tote and pick up the tulip to put my hands on something solid and something that makes sense. The meditation of threading the needle, deciding on each stitch, knotting, and cutting the next length of thread begins to calm the painful, empty wound inside me. Brian’s love language was that of service; he enjoyed caring for me and our home. His illness took that away from him. This project is a gift from him--his way of helping me navigate this world empty of him.
Our companion tapestries welcome those who enter our home. I like that he was here when we started this project, and that I didn’t wait to ask him his favorite flower.
