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My Mother’s Quilts

13 years ago, my mother hand sewed a quilt for me. I was a teenager when she gifted it to me, yet she embroidered my baby name on it; Aguchi. I was her baby. I still have that quilt. The natural tear and wear on it a sign of all the love and use it has had over the years, but still so delicately beautiful.

Yesterday, 13 years after my mother sewed that quilt, she gave me another one. This time, the name Penelope embroidered on it. It was not for me, it was for her granddaughter.

At first sight, the quilt is beautiful, but the more I looked at it, the more beautiful it became. It had been a while since I was moved purely by beauty, yet here I was, examining the quilt and crying. The quilt is so special. There is patchwork on the back side of it. A little house with a flower bed on the front, and a tree next to it. It’s her house. In every detail of the embroidery, in every stitch, in every piece she sewed together by hand – it was her. The quilt is her.

The quilt evokes the abundance of a mother’s love, in this case, a grandmother’s love. Whether through the making of a quilt, singing “Head Shoulders Knees and Toes” a million times, happily reading the same book for the nth time before bedtime, we are unconditionally and constantly giving ourselves to ones we love. In this case, my mother, giving part of herself and her love to Penelope, through a quilt. She will always be there with Penelope, watching out for her through the window of the little house, her little house, that was so lovingly sewed on the back of a quilt.

To my Mom- I love you. You continue to create beauty in the world, not only for your children, but now for your grandchildren. You are so special and I’m proud to call you my mother.



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