It was in the spring of '92 when two young people who could not bear to be apart from each other became one. I became his wife and my name changed to his. 21 years later, I lost him to a sudden heart attack. I was left with a new name: widow.
It was only after two years of struggling to survive, feeling anxious and weak, and attending counseling at a local church that I began to feel glimpses of myself coming alive. A new me was emerging out of all the pain. Things were not what they used to be, but that was okay. I began to accept my "new normal," which came with a need for human connection and affection. Holding on to some of my husband's most worn shirts and uniforms was a beautiful way for me to honor his memory and find comfort in his physical presence.
One day I met this wonderful young seamstress and it occurred to me that she could make me a pillowcase out of my husband's clothes. My goodness, the result was a magical piece of patchwork that became my "Hugging Pillow".
I could not have found a better way to keep my husband's memory close to my heart. This soft patchwork of memories and I are inseparable. I sleep with it and never leave home without it, even when I'm on an airplane. It has become an essential part of my daily life. My Hugging Pillow is a testament to the power of connection and the importance of finding comfort in my grief.
Paula Buritsch
What a beautiful way to honor his memory.