Stuck in limbo
I automatically reach for my quilt every morning when I wake up. To ward off the coolness of the morning I cover my shoulders for a few more minutes. The quilt gives me physical and emotional comfort that no other covering can. As I feel its softness and the worn pieces of material that hold it together, I always think of the love that was put into making it. Every morning it's like I get a hug from someone that loves me.You see the quilt was made expressly for me by my grandmother when I graduated from college. She brought it all the way to Knoxville from Big Rock, Tennessee. I remember her handing me the bulky package to unwrap and although I knew what was inside I was surprised when I opened it and saw how beautiful it was. So many quilt pieces and so many sweet stories from the clothes that made the blocks upon blocks of my quilt.
It would have been a surprise, but during one weekend visit my grandfather swore my to secrecy and tiptoed into the room and pulled back of sheet and my quilt was revealed. He grinned sheepishly, I think he even giggled mischeviously - loving that he let the cat out of the bag and that I was so thrilled. It wasn't until years after he had died that I told my grandmother that story. She loved hearing about his trick and she smiled and called him a rascal. Just another piece of the quilt that made it so special.
I have slept under the quilt now for 17 years. Sometimes when I'm away from home I just don't rest as easy without it covering me. The weight of the materials against by body is perfect. When I fled my marital home in fear, it was the only possession besides my contact case and solution that I took with me. I slept through many restless nights in the days, weeks and months that followed but the quilt gave me a comfort that nothing else could.
Today, I treat it gingerly. I spot clean it. Each morning I fold it up carefully and put it on the cedar chest at the foot of my bed. I reach for it everynight when I finally decide to let go of the day and lay down. Some of the quilt pieces are loose and the edges are becoming frayed. I probably should have taken better care of it and appreciated it more.
A few months ago, I realized that the quilt had become fragile like my grandmother. It's not holding up as good as it used to but I do what I can to piece it back together. The maker of this beautiful quilt has suffered a stroke and heart attack in the past weeks and we had to make the painful decision to move her into a long term care facility. She has a few items in her room, remembrances of her family to give her comfort, but nothing as special as the quilt she made for me.
Every weekend when I change my bedding I examine my quilt and I notice a little bit more wear and tear, a few more pieces trying to break free and wonder how much longer it will last. Every time I visit Grandmother, she's a little bit more confused. She's always happy that I'm there and I always make sure I take the time to just sit with her and hold her hand, and I'm always comforted by her warm and loving touch.
The day I spent hiking up to Andrews Bald was one of the best days of my life. How could I consider this short hike in The Great Smoky Mtns. National Park one of the greatest days of my life and place it on my personal best list? It's wasn't a momentous occasion like the birth of a child or a wedding or a job celebration or even finishing a marathon. Just simply a day spent in the quiet company of a good friend in a place with the most spectacular views.
