My Mom made quilts to keep us warm (my dad did not believe in heat in the bedrooms) during the cold West Virginia & Ohio winters. She also made all of my sisters & my dresses for school & church. Later quilts would have memories/ pieces from different dresses she made for my sisters & me. Before she passed, she made each of us a new quilt (1 brother & 2 other sisters). Mine is tucked away - one day I will put it on my bed. I still have the quilt she gave me when I moved away from home when I was 18 years ago. Warmth & memories.
Long before arthritis robbed my mother of her dexterity, and dementia claimed her mind, she proudly crocheted an afghan for each of her seven grandchildren after they were born. She wisely made them big enough for at least a full sized bed - thinking ahead well beyond the usefulness of a baby sized blanket.
My now grown daughter still proudly keeps the blanket in her apartment. It's the first thing she reaches for when it's time to curl up on the couch. Despite its pastel pink color clashing with her predominately blue and green living room, I still often find that waffle knit blanket on the back of my daughter's couch. She calls it her "nanny blanket".
This was beautiful. Grandparents are so special. Somehow the relationship is easer than parent/child. I was lucky enough to know all four of mine, all gone now. I miss them.
Love this. Your grandmothers quilt reminds me of my great grandmothers braided rug. I’ve moved it many times. These last 2 houses have nowhere it quite fits- look or size. It’s a multicolored scrap braided rug my great grandmother made of whatever scraps she had. It sits folded up on a shelf in my closet. I won’t part with it even if it never warms the floor again. I see it daily and still makes me smile for the Gigi I lost when I was 5 (over 40 years ago.) I like the connection to the aged hands I remember.
Beautiful...reading “What Really Happens After We Die” by James L Papandrea , a Catholic Theologian. Very interesting concepts and quite hopeful. Of course no one really knows which he admits. I am enjoying it. ( “There Will Be Hugs in Heaven”)
Beautiful memories and thoughts. It conjured up so many memories for me of my own grandmother who had a lap always big enough to climb up into.
My Mom made quilts to keep us warm (my dad did not believe in heat in the bedrooms) during the cold West Virginia & Ohio winters. She also made all of my sisters & my dresses for school & church. Later quilts would have memories/ pieces from different dresses she made for my sisters & me. Before she passed, she made each of us a new quilt (1 brother & 2 other sisters). Mine is tucked away - one day I will put it on my bed. I still have the quilt she gave me when I moved away from home when I was 18 years ago. Warmth & memories.
I will call when the sobbing subsides. Our family will be forever grateful that you are the Memory Keeper. Bless you.
This story hit all the feels.
I lost my mom 11 years ago. I miss her every day.
Long before arthritis robbed my mother of her dexterity, and dementia claimed her mind, she proudly crocheted an afghan for each of her seven grandchildren after they were born. She wisely made them big enough for at least a full sized bed - thinking ahead well beyond the usefulness of a baby sized blanket.
My now grown daughter still proudly keeps the blanket in her apartment. It's the first thing she reaches for when it's time to curl up on the couch. Despite its pastel pink color clashing with her predominately blue and green living room, I still often find that waffle knit blanket on the back of my daughter's couch. She calls it her "nanny blanket".
Holy shit!!!!!
Felt this . Spirit is real . Thank you 🙏❤️
Lovely Liz. Timely wisdom for me❤️
Fantastic. Inspiring. Thank you.
This was beautiful. Grandparents are so special. Somehow the relationship is easer than parent/child. I was lucky enough to know all four of mine, all gone now. I miss them.
Love this. Your grandmothers quilt reminds me of my great grandmothers braided rug. I’ve moved it many times. These last 2 houses have nowhere it quite fits- look or size. It’s a multicolored scrap braided rug my great grandmother made of whatever scraps she had. It sits folded up on a shelf in my closet. I won’t part with it even if it never warms the floor again. I see it daily and still makes me smile for the Gigi I lost when I was 5 (over 40 years ago.) I like the connection to the aged hands I remember.
Liz, I so enjoy your writing. It really resonates. Thank you.
Beautiful...reading “What Really Happens After We Die” by James L Papandrea , a Catholic Theologian. Very interesting concepts and quite hopeful. Of course no one really knows which he admits. I am enjoying it. ( “There Will Be Hugs in Heaven”)