A Piece of Satin Ribbon

I spied the swath of ribbon while searching through a drawer of craft odds and ends for my glue gun. Its pristine shimmer caught my eye, and I picked it up, gently caressing the cool silken satin. A collage of images and of memories passed through my mind.

I recalled numerous handmade outfits: my christening dress and bonnet, accented with embroidery and satin ribbons; my First Communion dress with a matching doll-sized dress; whole wardrobes of baby doll clothes and Barbie doll clothes--one of the dresses an elegant white satin bridal gown. Each item was made by my mom with precision, care and love for me.

Another memory floats up in my mind. My own infant daughter dressed carefully in a handmade green and white knitted outfit: jacket, booties, cap with white satin ribbon peeping out from the ruching. Yet that outfit was made by a stranger, made for a stranger’s infant. It was lent to me by my hospital roommate to dress my daughter in for a few photographs before I parted from her and left her at the hospital to be adopted.

The slip of ribbon I held in my hands was similar to the way I view life’s precious relationships: I treasure the present as it slides, silken, through my calloused fingers. I am aware that its sharp, clean-cut edges are prone to fray and unravel with time and wear.

Eighteen years passed between the time of photographing my infant daughter and our reunion. I vividly recall bemoaning, in our first year of reunion, the truth that four short years of college nearby could be all the time I would have to get acquainted with my reunited daughter. She had just moved to Chicago from Kansas for college. I was overjoyed to find her and meet her after a five year search. Yet I approached the relationship with tentativeness, fearful that the delicate fabric of our connection would disintegrate and slip through my fingers. And as it happens, she withdrew from contact within a year after she graduated from college. E mail responses and visits became rare and I was left with a scrap of satin ribbon that was frayed, its ends tangled threads which begged to be trimmed away.

A much newer mental image is of pink satin ribbons. They are symbols of the fight against Breast Cancer which claimed my sister-in-law’s life. They also served to bring my daughter and I together again.

In 2011, my mom, my daughter, my daughter’s adoptive mom, and I walked in the 3-Day Breast Cancer Walk in San Francisco. Ubiquitous pink ribbons filled our sights as we walked 20 miles a day for three days. The ribbons symbolized a united cause: a battle for education, research, awareness. The goal: that mothers, daughters, sisters, husbands, sons, fathers, friends would cease to be parted by Breast Cancer.

I had forgotten the precious memories of the time spent in my daughter’s presence, spent with my mom, my daughter and my daughter’s “other mom” until I received a package recently. My daughter’s adoptive mom sent two beautiful quilts she had made from fabric covered in pink ribbon themes, a quilt for my mom and one for me. I received the quilt with gratitude for her thoughtfulness, her willingness to welcome my mom and me into relationship with her.

Again, I turned my attention to the slip of satin ribbon in my hand. It represents moments brief and precious, and reminds me to cherish with gratitude the relationships the satin ribbons bring to mind.