The Comfort of a Quilt

I remember the last time my mother was in my home. It isn't so much the fact that she was there, but that for the first time in my life, I could remember her having an emotional attachment to things from her past. She had left my dad by this time and had a large box of things she wanted me to have.

She appeared at my door unexpectedly that day and dropped this large box off and was gone as quickly as she had shown up. I left the box sitting there for days. Afraid of what she might find important and sentimental. 

I opened the box after days and was shocked at the contents. Things I would have NEVER thought would be worthy of keeping. She had gotten rid of my Barbie dolls prior to our move from Ephrata, Washington to Little Rock Arkansas back in 1966. Having them in the car would just be to much trouble. She even cut all my hair off and gave me a "pixie" cut because caring for my hair was to much of a problem. 

In the box? Grandmother Williams purse. Her Sunday shoes. Her wedding ring almost worn completely thin. But the most prized items in that box were Grandmother Williams Bible and a quilt from 1937. It had been hand made by the women of my mothers family. Signatures had been hand embroidered and dated. The quilt was in like new condition. The flour sacks used to back this quilt still had the flour compan names clearly visible. I held that quilt and looked at it. Amazed it hadn't been disposed of. Surely it should have gone the way of my Barbie Dolls and hair. The names on the quilt were names I recognized from family discussion when I was younger. How had this survived my mother's lack of attachment to anything. ANYTHING including her husband and children. 

It would be years later before I had a conversation with my cousin asking her about some of the people from that side of my family. She had grown up in Oklahoma. Close to my grandparents. I had grown up a military child and we lived so far away that I hardly knew my grandparents. My cousin started sharing about our family. The people and the interesting history that every family has. Although, i don't know if every family has moonshine runners, killers, jealous husbands, and a famous Okie from Muskogee. That's right! I found out from discussion with my cousin about the names on the quilt that my mother is first cousins with THAT Okie from Muskogee. 

Eighteen years later my mother would be in my home again. She came, along with her husband, to my home to celebrate the marriage of my youngest child.....my only daughter. I ask mother about her first cousin and why she had never told us that she was related to Merle. Her answer astounded me and tells me so much about the insecurities I grew up with. She was in fact first cousins with the famous singer, but he was from the "trashy" side of the family. Family that she/we didn't want anyone to know we were kin to. Don't talk about it. It's an embarrassment. 

Really? Ok, NOW I know why I was never good enough. It was NOT that I didn't become a nurse, that I had married at sixteen - forget the fact that I am still married to the same man 36 years later, or that I wasn't thin enough. It was that she had lived her life to a standard that no one could achieve. It wasn't that "I" wasn't good enough.....NO ONE was good enough. 

I got the quilt out after she leaves and hold it. Smell it. Touch the embroidery that was done so lovingly by my family, MY KIN some 65 years ago. Some how that quilt survived. It was good enough that she - someone with no sentimental bones in her body - kept. For me. 

So, I now realize that those ladies, those precious family members were really good enough. The love they put in to that quilt was saved.  The love may have skipped a generation in my mother, but it landed on me and I will pass it down to my daughter.  Our family love won't skip a generation again if I can help it.