My sewing box is a little faded now and the Velcro strap that once held it shut no longer sticks. But with a little creativity, it still holds everything I need. That and a lot of heart.

I was 8 or 9 when my Nina taught me how to sew, not on a machine, by hand. My younger sister Judi and I were spending the weekend at her and Nino’s house, something we—their pseudo kids—got to do once a year. 

Nino and Nina are Spanish for Godparents. We love them both dearly, but Nina took the lead regarding our visits. She planned everything weeks in advance and mailed us handwritten itineraries with choices of restaurants, breakfasts and desserts we wanted her to make and which outings and activities we’d prefer on what days. We’d arrive by Greyhound (a 1.5 hour bus trip from Nogales to Tucson) and they made us feel special every second.

One year, sewing lessons made the cut. I can still picture us at her kitchen table, pulling thread through a needle—or trying to—while she taught us how to knot the ends. We practiced various stitches on felt squares, sewed them together, added big colorful buttons and created the cutest coin purses.

A few weeks later, two sewing boxes arrived by mail. Mine was pink with roses and both were filled with everything you’d ever need: a handmade cloth pin cushion patterned with a little violinist, all kinds of thread, sewing needles and stick pins, a silver thimble, a thread cutter, scissors and a plastic bag filled with buttons in every size, shape and color imaginable. Who cares if we barely knew three stitches?!

I’ve had that sewing box for … well, let’s just say the number of years is not important, but I never really became great at sewing. Still, I can replace a button, repair a seam or patch a small tear like a near pro! My kids even know to bring me things that need mending before tossing them and USUALLY, they are wearable afterwards, which makes me feel proud.

To this day, I don’t know if my sister kept her sewing box, but mine brings me comfort when I see it next to my bed, where I keep it for some reason. 

It’s been with me through many chapters—leaving home, two marriages that eventually unraveled, three beautiful kids I love so much, friendships, moves, victories, losses, lessons, ups, downs and in-betweens. And although the sewing box isn’t filled with the exact same needles and thread, the love and care found inside has always remained. 

It’s a little worn and the stains are deeply embedded, but it’s held together all this time, and honestly, so have I. 

Photos by Nicole Hamel