This is the kind of delicate shroud I felt should have been made for my mother when she died. Instead, my sister, daughter, and I watched and I cringed as the funeral directors efficiently wrapped her in a plain, rough-looking piece of canvas and bundled her away. It was unsettling to say the least. In the months to follow, I made something more personal with bits of fabric belonging to both of us, some fabric with flowers pressed into it, family names, and other memories.