A Mother's Touch

About 30 years ago, my mother and father hand-stitched this quilt together, but never finishing it. Over the years this quilt has been tucked away, packed in paper bags, plastic grocery bags, moved from house to house, misplaced and found. Some of the most important people in my life have handled this blanket made of clothes of my childhood and of my parents. This evening I finished attaching the blue satin ribbon I had purchased 7 years ago, after the birth of my son. As I sat there, running the trim through the sewing machine, tears came to my eyes. I thought about my own mother's hands as they would have held the fabric gingerly sewing each square together. I reflected on the handwritten letters I have from her and the love she felt writing to my father and his mother. Years have passed since I felt her embrace, but the gift she gave was thoroughly realized as I finished that quilt she and my dad started while I played on the floor next to them. The gift lives through my children and the wonder they bring to my everyday. Life often seems so daunting that precious gifts, such as this, are overlooked and taken for granted. What a blessing my life has been! Through this imperfect little quilt, I saw the perfection in the path GOD laid out for me.

Crazy starts somewhere...

While sorting through clothes in my armoire, I came across a hateful letter my grandmother had planted in my belongings when I moved a year and a half ago. She always had a penchant for the passive aggressive approach; ensuring that her last stab went uncontested. I stood outside of her house, reading that letter with accusations of stealing inconsequential items, such as flatware and paper plates, being a bad mother, sister and granddaughter, even reprimanding me on my behavior as a child. At perhaps the lowest time in my life, my only connection to my mother, condemned me; reinforcing the feelings of self-doubt, low self-worth, and self-hate.


When I happened upon that letter, tucked away in a place rarely disturbed, I was compelled to reread it. My trust and faith in God is still in its infancy, and I often feel that I don't deserve His forgiveness or the blessings He has given to me. Frequently, I will find reason (such as this letter) on why I am not worthy and I have held on this last connection to the woman who resented my birth as the cause of her daughter's death.... Always questioning my value as a person.

I asked my husband to destroy the letter for me, as I knew I would revisit that letter during my moments of darkness. His response was, "You should do it, it's therapeutic," in his best Barnie Fife imitation. Letting go has never been easy for me and I wondered where I would find strength to destroy the

For a while, I stared at that letter.. Picking it up to read parts, reflecting on how ill I was and how devastated I was that when I felt I needed my family the most, they had turned their back on me. Finally, I took that cancer and sat on my back porch alone and watched the flames slowly devour the edges and ultimately the last of those four leaflet pages.

As I sat there, I realized that she had harbored so much hate and resentment towards losing her daughter that she never allowed herself to love and accept what she left behind. I know I'm not a perfect person, but I'm growing every day. While, I may never have the love of my grandmother, I have been so blessed with the love of amazing women, who have not only given me strength and support when I've been down, but have also given me inspiration in the woman I want to become.

Since moving away from my blood "family," I have been surrounded by acceptance, companionship, and support. Words cannot express the gratitude I feel that I am a part of a family that loves my children beyond their mistakes. It is so wonderful to share time doing healthy, wholesome activities and growing together.