As I sit beside my father, who has entered the final chapter of his life, I sew. It’s all I can do that feels like it lends an air of peace. I try to write. I just seem to stare at the pen. I do tidy up a bit and clean his space and help him take a sip of cranberry juice. I’ll lift the dog, Tobey, into his bed so he can pet him. I watch Dad reach into the air for things he sees but I do not see. But it’s when I just sit and sew a sock monkey that he seems most peaceful. He knows I’m being industrious. He likes that. I posted the following on FB two days ago:
Ever doubted the power of the sock monkey? I just spent a peaceful couple of hours with my dad watching the debate and just being. He looked over as I was sewing a pink monkey and, through his morphine haze, raised his power fist and said, “that is wonderful.” “Fucking rights, Pappa.” and we laughed.
I made Dad a HEAL sock monkey last February when he went in for a large procedure. It’s been hanging out with him ever since.
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POSTSTREET: self-expression through the sock 
… amazing post, here. Demonstrative of the way that art’s healing can swing both ways.
What a beautiful, beautiful post, Kat! It sounds like you and your dad are lucky to have one another. It is amazing how healing it can be just to sit and stitch and witness life, just as it is, now, isn’t it? x
Tears flowing. Appreciate you sharing your journey. Been thinking about you so much during this time. Sending love & light.
Been down that long and winding road…so much love between you and your dad.
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