My mom was a t-shirt and shorts or jeans kind of woman until her death at 79 and I have followed in her fashion footsteps. When she left this earth she left behind many tees proclaiming her love of her favorite sports teams, Ocean City, New Jersey and this country. When I cleaned out her things, I kept most of them and later decided to have a quilt made out of them. I am a firm believer that when you save items that belong to someone who has died, you honor the person by putting to use or displaying those keepsakes. I wanted to be able to wrap myself in mom’s shirts. After all, they are her.
A wonderful, talented woman made the quilt and with the technology available, pictures of mom or of mom and I make up the border around the squares of her shirts. The quilt ended up being much larger than I had anticipated and was, quite frankly, a work of art too beautiful to fold up and take out when the need for warmth or comfort arose. It had to be showcased for all to see.
Working with a local craftsman, I had a quilt ladder made and the fabric of my mom’s life hangs in my dining room. Needing to hide a fade mark on our wallpaper from a picture taken down to make room for the ladder, I searched and found a quote to be placed above it. My poor husband spent hours applying the decal to the wall, painstaking letter by letter, and the result was beyond my expectations. My short, thin mom would be dwarfed by the quilt but it resides in the same room where we always hugged before I took her home.
I encourage you to go to your closet or attic, find the box marked “MOM” or “GRANDMOM” and pull out the shoes your mom always wore to the beach and the cookie tin your nana always had filled with your favorite “melt-away” cookies. Place the canvas espadrilles on your shoe rack even if they don’t fit you. Fill the tin and keep it on your counter or table and enjoy it. Frame the last lottery tickets your dad bought before he died. Of course our loved ones live in us but having their things reside around us says: they were here.
At least once a day I touch the quilt as I pass by. And on occasion, I give it a hug. And it’s heaven.
