Stitch Witched

      Exhausted, I opened the driver's door, reached over to the passenger seat pulling on my purse, lifting the computer, grabbing the grocery sack of dirty clothes, and one more bag full of miscellaneous items one might need for an extended hospital stay. TJ, bounding out the garage, met me at the car. "Momma! I cleaned the house for you! Wait 'till you see it! It is beautiful!" Anna, close behind her, quietly and with much concern asked, "How is Grandma?" Seeing me struggle under the burden of bags, Bob quickly relieved some of my load and together, hand in hand, we walked somberly into our home.
      Four days I have been next to my mother's hospital bed . . . day and night. Confident in Bob's care, I did not give much thought to Anna or TJ. That's not to say I never thought of them. At 6:00 each morning I knew Bob would be leaving for work and the girls would just be rising. Anna had the sole responsibility of getting her little sister ready for school and walking with her to the bus.
     Lately, the two girls act like true blood sisters: bickering, jealous, snide comments, goading each other, etc. Sometimes I thought I would be breaking up a knock-down, drag-out, sister fight. But it appeared I had no reason to be concerned these past four days. They worked together to make the time without Mom run as smoothly as possible. Anna carefully coiffed TJ's hair each morning, picked out the cutest outfit, making sure the ponytail holder, shirt, shoes, and skirt matched. According to TJ, Anna taught her how to use hairspray and mouse, and from my vantage point, TJ was a diligent student. Both girls helped with dinner, setting the table without a harsh word to one another and cleaning up cheerfully. Anna read stories to her sister nightly and tucked her into bed.
       It dawned on me that we, as a family, have been stitch witched. We, especially my two girls, have bonded together by the heat of grief. Our family has become one. No longer are Bob and I  the foster parents of an African American teenage girl and a pastie white kindergartner. We truly are Mom, Dad and two daughters, whose relationship will never be severed.
     I leave for the hospital in a few minutes for a two night stay. I have no concerns. Bob is doing great with his two daughters who, together, are picking up the slack in my absence. It is not stitch witchery which binds this family together. It is the strong love of our God and His promise to put the fatherless in families that has carved us into one.