A Note From the Week of Launch
This is not the post I imagined writing launch week.
But I can’t ignore the real grief that has been living inside us, beside us, around us. Our cousin Pelin passed away in Istanbul. She had been suffering, and there is relief in knowing her body is finally at rest. But the grief of her physical presence being gone has been hitting us hard.
When we lived in Türkiye from 2022–2024, our lives were deeply co-mingled. Our children learning how to talk, share, build sand castles, and become little people alongside one another. They were the same age, growing up inside the same unfolding family story requesting “purple crocs from the United States, not pink, dayi.”
Pelin was healthy during those years. It has been since we moved back to the United States that her suffering became part of the story. Güven traveled back and forth to be with her during certain milestones, but we were physically separated through much of it.
There is a particular kind of heartbreak in watching someone you love move through something enormous.. and then watching it from far away. Pelin and I did not have the privilege of speaking the same language fluently. So we found other ways.. We shared smiles, touch, music, laughter, and tiny language lessons. She taught me Turkish. I taught her English and Spanish. Her tone and rhythm in Turkish felt like music to me. Her voice made my body feel at ease. I do not know how to explain that more clearly. I only know that I loved being in her presence.
Living in another country can make every interaction feel slightly performative. You are constantly translating.. not only language, but tone, customs, expectations, and yourself. Even beautiful connection can become exhausting when you are working so hard to participate in it. Pelin’s presence was never exhausting to me. I did not feel like I had to perform my way toward her. We could simply be near each other. Me typing in the kitchen, her feeding Nova and prepping for our dinner sharing music back and forth.
Our stories had been tangled together for more than a decade.
I shipped her a bridesmaid dress to Istanbul so she could have it fitted for our Catholic wedding ceremony in 2015. At our rehearsal dinner, she sat beside one of Güven’s groomsmen from New York by way of Türkiye. They flirted through the wedding and reception. Six days later, he proposed to her at the Velvet Tango Room in Cleveland.. upstaging even our love story!
We celebrated their love by riding bikes through Edgewater Park, feeding each other strawberries & secretly drinking champagne, and trying not to get caught by a drone hovering overhead.
Our collective love was on fire.
Later that year, Güven and I planned our Turkish beach wedding for the weekend before Pelin’s wedding so our families could continue celebrating together.
Then came businesses, children, homes, responsibilities, illness, distance, and all the ordinary things that fill a decade.
Pelin and I used to dream about our future friendship when we shared easeful language.
We imagined the version of our lives where the children were grown and the caregiving had softened. We would meet somewhere obscure, listen to records, and finally have time to share our fears, our forbidden desires, and all the things we had been too busy living to say. We talked about those days as though they were still waiting for us.
That is part of the heartbreak too.
The grief is not only for what existed. It is also for the future versions of us that will not exist in the way we imagined. We chose not to return to Türkiye for the funeral. How does anyone make a choice like that? There was no choice that would have felt completely right. There was only what felt right for our family in that moment. And strangely, I do not feel disconnected from her.
I feel close enough to whisper in her ear most of the time.
I am crying constantly, but the pain does not feel like missing her yet. I have not lost my connection to her. Right now, I am simply heartbroken. There is no clean way to hold grief and business and children and laundry and launch plans at the same time. The ordinary routines keep moving even when something inside of you has changed completely.
There are still meals to make. Orders to pack. Children asking questions. Messages waiting for replies. Cotton tees and ribbons sitting in our studio, ready to become part of someone else’s life.
This is real.
The Cotton Tee pre-sale is still opening June 20.
Not because grief pauses.. not because we are trying to bypass it.. but because life keeps asking us to keep living inside of it.
And honestly, that has always been part of what Together Textiles is about..
The things we wear while we carry what we carry.
The cotton against the body.
The softness that stays with us through ordinary days & impossible ones.
The tees still pre-sale launch June 20.. because life doesn’t pause.. and softness still matters.
Thank you for being here with us in the middle of all of it.
xx
Allie + Güven
Pre-orders open June 20th.
classic cotton tees
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About Together Textiles:
Cozy, sustainable, and versatile, Together Textiles designs cotton tees, robes and Turkish towels traditionally woven on looms in Türkiye using the same techniques passed down four generations. Purchasing from Together Textiles means you are supporting an ancient craft, along with a budding family who loves connecting with the local communities while splitting time between Türkiye and our studio in central Ohio. Follow the family business journey on Instagram @togethertextiles or read the blog togethertextiles.com/blog.
To shop Together Textiles, visit https://www.togethertextiles.com Or shop with us on Faire.