Reliquaries
The cocoon makers and their stories
1 S. B. “Peanut” Brunnemer
Object: U.S. Navy, Shelby Copr, field can opener. This was worn by my uncle in Vietnam, one of many items that were necessary for survival. He was a navy/marine corpman and as I wrapped this object, I though of his medical skills of being in the field with bandages and sewing needles. Miss you uncle!
2 Debra Blanchard Knight
Cubix Zirconia ring from my Mom, who I took care of as she declined with dementia. A stamp from my Dad's stamp collection. I help care for him as he died young of non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. Biggest tragedy of my life.
3 Jo-Ellen Trilling
Barbara Remington, a life-long friend (RIP), Artist/Beacon/Mentor. Her travel into the dumpster of a sail maker to retrieve colorful scrapts ... and she made gorgeous duffels. This contains her name and address and phone number on a bag she gave me. Don't try to call her ... she won't answer.
4 Cindee Moyer
We lost a granddaughter to Sudden Infant Death in 2008. I still had one of her bably blankets and cut a corner of it and stitched around the edge. Katelyn Jo Belien 2/21/08-5/14/2008
5 Kathy Sketchley
This is in honor of my former mother-in-law, Ethel Quick. She gave to others always! (Her family, community, even donated her body to science when she passed away from Alzheimer's disease.
6 Anonymous
One year ago today (October 18, 2024) my husband died. I have wrapped the "goodbye" care everybody got when they went home after the funeral.
7 Mary Delmege
This is a container for diabetic test strips. Toward the end of his life, by husband had multiple health problems, plus sever depression and I took responsibility for all the aspects of his meds, monitoring his blood sugar and trying to regulate his mental state. At times, we was able to acknowledge my efforts, but other times he was not able to.
8 Mary Delmege
"Advance Directive." My father, with whom I had a difficult and distant relationship, had listed me as the responsible person in case he would be unable to make his own medical decisions. At the end of his life, I was the one to direct his life support to be withdrawn. And I sat with him as he died. Although having an advance directive is very important, it overlooks the emotional work on the part of the person who has to make that call. I did this for my father, my mother, my stepfather, my stepmother, and my husband.
9 Beth Tyrell-Prevost
I've enclosed my parents' wedding bands. Their love story is quietly inspiring. After over 50 years of marriage, my mother became my father's primary caregiver. He never had to be in a nursing home or in memory care. She was his rock. When Mom passed away 11 years later, my sister found a vial of my Dad's ashed with a note form Mom. She wanted his ashes mixed with hers and spread at the same time.
10 Heidi Bambauer
As I cocoon a silver heart pendant given to me by my mother-in-law, I reflect on my decision to remain at her bedside as she was dying. The pendant symbolizes both love and the burden of unanswered questions I continue to carry. Thelma was a strong, capable, independent, and deeply private woman. In choosing not to leave her alone, I hoped to offer comfort and companionship. Yet I continue to wonder whether my presence was a gift or an intrusion. Dying is an intensely personal, vulnerable, and intimate experience. Did I honor her in that moment, or did I take something from her that she would have wanted for herself? Unable to know her wishes, I live with the grief of uncertainty as well as her absence. The possibility that I may have caused harm while believing I was helping still brings me to tears. This work explores the weight of regret, the limits of good intentions, and the lingering question of how often we act out of love, only to discover that love cannot guarantee we have done the right thing.
11 Mary Delmege
This is a guitar pick from my step-father, Charles Worth. He was a life-long musician. I took care of him through the end of his life. He died from Parkinsons. Although he had two sons, I ended up as his primary caregiver and his durable power of attorney for end of life decisions. So I had the obligation to let medical professionals know when to stop trying to prolong his life. Although no-one second guessed my decisions, it is still a heavy emotional lift.
12 Steph Dunlap
The original object I brought to cocoon was an eyeshadow palette of my aunt's. My aunt passed away from lupus when I was 12. Shortly after her death, my grandma and I spent a weekend sorting through her belongings. She insisted I take my aunt's makeup, sewing notions, and her hospital go bag. I've cherished all of these items ever since. The eyeshadow reminds me of my aunt, in the every day kind of way, before she was sick. The second I finished my first cocoon, I burst into tears. I realized I couldn't give this away; I couldn't let it go. I eneded up cutting it out. The cocoon I ended up submitting is made up of all the stitches I cut up from the first. It contains a version of the original memory, but the structure is softer.