Grandmother’s Quilt (Grandpa's Love)

Grandmother’s Quilt

The inside of my body resembles that of a sieve. The biggest whole is buried deep beneath my aching soul. The rhythm of my heart seems to skip a beat with each breath that my lungs consume. As I stand at the front of the church entrance, I can feel the weight of my body shift from side to side. At any moment my legs may give way and buckle beneath my emotionally tired body. The warmth of the bodies from the room brushes past my face sending a flash of heat down my spinal cord. My plain, black suit hugs tightly against my body, constricting each movement that I take. I force my lips to replicate that of a smile as I greet the mourners at the door. I am the one that they are worried about the most; I am the one who has suffered the greatest loss and you can see this concern printed across their faces.

Quilt: a coverlet made by stitching two layers of fabric with padding in between (Anderson, 687). It lies there, alone, with the vibrant colors illuminating the room that contains the beautiful masterpiece. It is carefully folded on the foot of the bed being made sure that there are no wrinkles present. It lies limp, engulfing the colorless sheets that serve as its background. If one were to pass by the room and happen to glance in they would notice that the center of attention is focused on this breath-taking quilt.

March 1989: I was five years of age and would anxiously await the arrival of my Grandma’s car. It was there to sweep me away to a world filled with cookies and milk. I peered through the bottom section of the window, grasping the sill with white knuckles. As soon as her car rounded the corner I would run over to the door, violently thrust it open, and bound down the driveway. My blonde curls...

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...her and not in a nursing home. She controlled her life until the very end and that was what she wanted to do.

January 2003: I lie contentedly in my bed, covers pulled up to my nose. I glance down to see the faded, but still brilliant quilt stretched across my bed. Used. Used many times. My Grandma has been gone for three years now but I still carry her with me. I remember the time she told me to never take one single breath for granted and realized that more times than not, I don’t, which is a step in the right direction. I vow that I will live by the guidelines of my Gram and breath in and out everyday, with purpose. The quilt has served its purpose. It has protected me at night and decorated any room that it was in. The quilt may not cover me now looking brand new, but it covers me with a story of its own. I shut my eyes and drift off to sleep, quilted by Gram.