A Glorious Mess

A pointed, pale blue piece of felt was the first thing I saw as I opened the parcel my sister had sent. I knew straight away what it was. A rabbit. Not just any rabbit. The rabbit I spent hours stitching by hand for my nephew the year we stayed with my sister for easter.

I had brought eggs for everyone else, but Owen couldn’t eat. He was peg-fed almost since birth due to his inability to swallow without choking. The most my sister could do was rub tiny slivers of soft food on his gums so he could get an idea of what it tasted like as it dissolved. Anything placed directly on his tongue was a choking risk, which could lead to aspiration and death.

I had no idea what to do for him as I rummaged through the Easter aisles, choosing eggs and bunnies and hard candy eggs for my sister and her husband. They lived in a country area with a very limited selection of anything, so I made the most of being a city dweller and made sure I was prepared in advance for the trip. But Owen… that was another story.

In addition to being unable to eat, he was also blind and unable to move. He couldn’t talk. What could I give him that didn’t seem like an afterthought or only half an effort? It was only when we visited a craft store on the way down to their country home that I got the idea to make him a small rabbit. It needed to be light and soft and not have anything that could come off and choke him. He wouldn’t be able to pick it up, but my sister could snuggle it against his skin. Owen would enjoy that. 

I started making it when we arrived, sewing everything by hand. Two tones of blue felt, a small purple stitched-on bow tie, and white facial features. I blanket-stitched the edging, making sure to trim off any loose acrylic filling. I gave it a small flat tail from a circle of dark blue felt, stitched securely to its back in roughly the right area. 

I finished it on Easter morning, ready to hand over with the other celebratory goodies. It was small and simple and didn’t look like it had taken the number of hours I poured into its construction. But it was made with much love.

Then Owen died, and my sister has spent the last three years wondering what to do with his belongings. What to keep, what to pass on, what to throw away. It was not a task I envied her. She should have been packing up her son’s stuff to send to him in his new home, where he was living with friends or a loving partner, not deciding which items were of any value to others.

Last month, my sister took an overseas trip by herself (long story and certainly not the original plan). She bought souvenirs for everyone and mailed them to me when she got home. I knew that’s what was in the parcel. I didn’t expect the rabbit. Its ears were the first thing I saw as I opened the parcel and as always that stab of seeing something from someone who has passed hit me. And, I admit, a pang of sadness that my sister hadn’t chosen to keep the gift.

But she’d also included a handwritten letter, this sister who eschews technology. She explained which souvenir was for which family member and then added two lines. “I’m returning the bunny. Owen loved it.”

He loved it.

I will accept the bunny with the same love with which it was made. I have other stuffed rabbits that come out at Easter, and next year, this one will be amongst them, sometimes unnoticed and other times recognised with the pang that I know will lessen with time. I will remember the story of when I made it and for whom, and in doing so, Owen’s memory will live on in a small, simply made, light blue bunny with dark blue ears and a jaunty purple bow tie.