When Joan died, I used three bags of her clothing to have “Memory Quilts” made for our children. Many people have asked, “Where did you ever get the idea to have the quilts made. The honest answer is, “I’m really not certain.” I do know that part of the answer came from a dear friend, Joan (Ellis) Fellini, a high school classmate who had made a very special quilt for Joan shortly before her death. It’s highly possible that she mentioned something about it, but I can’t really be certain.
There are, however, several things that I know about the memory quilts that were made for the kids. First and perhaps foremost is the fact that they will cherish this memory of their mother forever. They can pick out certain patches of material and tell you exactly what Joan was doing when she was wearing “that” blouse, skirt, robe, or jacket. That’s the memory of one child. It may not be my memory; it may not be the memory of either of the other two children. It is a single memory, and it is cherished. I can also tell you that by their very appearance, these quilts were made with a great deal of love. The quilter was Linda Publicover, one of the owners of “All About Quilts,” a store in Walpole, MA. I didn’t know Linda before discovering the store. In fact, I’m not even certain she was there when I spoke with another person about the quilts. As I recall, this lady said, “Oh, Linda would love a project like this,” and that was that. The third thing that I can tell you is that when the quilts were opened, the emotion in the room was beyond overwhelming. There were six adults in the room; most of us were openly crying. The other two were attempting to be macho and failing miserably. The occasion was so emotional that it was decided not to package the third quilt and merely send it to our son. No, instead we will wait for his February visit and have him open it with the rest of the family in attendance. Am I trying to create another emotional outburst? No, not at all. It just seems to be a better way of handling things.
Some might believe that using three bags of clothing to create quilts is a waste of clothing that could be put to better use for those less fortunate. Since the Salvation Army has picked up 21 bags of clothing, I don’t believe the three will be missed all that much.
Shortly after I ordered the quilts and before they were completed, someone sent me a story. It’s called, “The Quilt of Holes.” It’s completely different from any of the references to the quilts that have been made for the children. However, it’s a story that I feel belongs with this piece. Here is the story:
“As I faced my Maker at the last judgment, I knelt before the Lord along with all the other souls.
“Before each of us laid our lives like the squares of a quilt in many piles; an angel sat before each of us sewing our quilt squares together into a tapestry that is our life.
“But as my angel took each piece of cloth off the pile, I noticed how ragged and empty each of my squares was. They were filled with giant holes. Each square was labeled with a part of my life that had been difficult, the challenges and temptations I was faced with in every day life. I saw hardships that I endured, which were the largest holes of all.
“I glanced around me. Nobody else had such squares. Other than a tiny hole here and there, the other tapestries were filled with rich color and the bright hues of worldly fortune. I gazed upon my own life and was disheartened.
“My angel was sewing the ragged pieces of cloth together, threadbare and empty, like binding air.
“Finally the time came when each life was to be displayed, held up to the light, the scrutiny of truth. The others rose; each in turn, holding up their tapestries. So filled their lives had been. My angel looked upon me, and nodded for me to rise.
“My gaze dropped to the ground in shame. I hadn’t had all the earthly fortunes. I had love in my life, and laughter. But there had also been trials of illness, and wealth, and false accusations that took from me my world, as I knew it. I had to start over many times. I often struggled with the temptation to quit, only to somehow muster the strength to pick up and begin again. I spent many nights on my knees in prayer, asking for help and guidance in my life. I had often been held up to ridicule, which I endured painfully, each time offering it up to the Father in hopes that I would not melt within my skin beneath the judgmental gaze of those who unfairly judged me.
“And now, I had to face the truth. My life was what it was, and I had to accept it for what it was.
“I rose and slowly lifted the combined squares of my life to the light.
“An awe-filled gasp filled the air. I gazed around at the others who stared at me with wide eyes.
“Then, I looked upon the tapestry before me. Light flooded the many holes, creating an image, the face of Christ. Then our Lord stood before me, with warmth and love in His eyes. He said, “Every time you gave over your life to Me, it became My life, My hardships, and My struggles.
“Each point of light in your life is when you stepped aside and let Me shine through, until there was more of Me than there was of you.”
“May all our quilts be threadbare and worn, allowing Christ to shine through! God determines who walks into your life….it’s up to you to decide who you let walk away, who you let stay, and who you refuse to let go.”
“When there is nothing left but God that is when you find out that God is all you need.”
The quilts that will be passed on by our children to theirs will, eventually, develop holes and need to be patched. Hopefully, they will adopt the idea of memory quilts and pass along this tradition to their children and grandchildren.
Of one thing I am quite certain: if there is any truth to the above story, the quilt that Joan’s angel made for her was filled with extremely large holes. In fact, I’m willing to bet that the angel had a tough time just trying to find material to patch together.
This is really unbelivable. I cannot believe in this article.