The Embroidery Thread

By: Gabrielle Jimenez

When I walked into the home of a woman who was hours away from taking her last breath, the first thing I noticed was the disconnect between her four children. They were in the same room, intentionally not sitting next to one another. Although they were only a few feet away from one another, it felt like miles, more like years, and in my opinion, they were wasting the very last moments they would have with their mother, and I really struggled with this.

I have learned so much about life working around death, most importantly the reality of the reminder that in death, there are no do overs. You only get one chance to be there for someone you love, to have a best, last memory… and how that plays out is totally up to you.

I excused myself and went out to my car. I rummaged through my bags and boxes of stuff I have completely filled my trunk with and found what I was looking for. I grabbed four strands of different colored embroidery thread and I brought it into the house. I sat back down with the four siblings and talked about their mother’s last hours, asking them what they thought she might want. They looked at me with blank stares, and one said, “you mean like music?” I said that yes, music is always something to consider, but I explained that what I really meant, was what they thought she might need or want from them. More blank stares. I asked, “do you think she would find comfort in knowing that the four of you would take care of one another?”. They each nodded yes, two started to cry.

I pulled out the embroidery thread, each a different color. I took a pair of scissors and I cut them in half. I handed each of them two strands. They looked at me with more blank stares, but I could see they were at least a little curious, which encouraged me to continue. “You only have a few hours left with your mother, and if you trust me, I would like to share something with you, that you can do for her and for each other.” “We trust you” said one of the sisters.

I suggested they each take a private moment and sit with their mother, and tie one of their strands to her wrist. “As you tie the strand of thread around her wrist, send her off with some last words, you can wish her a peaceful and safe journey, you can say a special prayer or you can simply tell her you love her, you’ll miss her and goodbye.” One of them asked what they were supposed to do with the other half of the thread, I smiled and said, “that comes later.”

I waited on the couch and watched as each sibling went into their mother’s room to have their own private time with her. After each visit, there were tears, and silence. I did notice that when the last sibling came out, they sat together, all of them on one couch. It was the closest I had seen them since I first met them.

I asked them to help each other tie the matching threads to their wrists, and I watched as they were gentle, patient and kind to one another. This too was done in silence. When they were done, I said, “you each have the matching thread to the one you tied on your mother’s wrist. As you navigate these next few days and weeks, feel the thread, let it remind you of the beautiful last words you said to your mother, and allow it to keep you connected to her and your love for her. When the thread falls off, find a special, safe place for it.”

As I was leaving that day, I reminded them to take care of one another and to promise their mother before she dies that they would. They promised they would do that. She died that night.

A few weeks later, I received a call from her son who said that his thread finally fell off that morning. He said the days and weeks that led to this moment were difficult, but he found comfort touching the thread on his wrist, that it somehow made him feel that his mother was there with him, that he could talk to her and she could hear him. He also mentioned that he and his sisters have kept their promise; they check in with one another frequently and have continued their Sunday dinners together as their mother would have wanted.

Have you been called to become a sacred passage end-of-life doula?