Hey everyone, I never thought I’d be typing this out for all to read, but I need to share. It feels like I’m finally waking up from a long sleep. Imagine having something right under your nose your whole life, and only now do you truly see it for what it is.
Growing up, my mom had this old, faded quilt we kept on the back of our living room sofa. It was nothing fancy—a mish-mash of colors and fabrics that didn’t appear to have any coherent pattern. As a kid, I used to snuggle into it while watching cartoons or whenever I felt sick and needed the comfort of the couch.
When she passed away last year, I inherited all her things, including that quilt. It made its way into my box of ‘things I can’t let go of but don’t understand why.’ You know the type. Life was a whirlwind after her passing, and I pushed a lot aside, trying to stay afloat in my new reality.
A few nights ago, I was having one of those restless evenings. I couldn’t sleep, thoughts of her swirling around my head like a storm. I sat on the floor of my apartment, a bottle of wine half empty beside me, and rifled through the box. That’s when I pulled out the quilt.
I don’t know why I did it, but I spread it out on the floor, just like she used to during spring cleaning. And that’s when I noticed it—a small, barely visible patch that seemed out of place, different somehow. The seams were loose, fraying slightly. I don’t know what compelled me to do it, but I reached for a pair of scissors and carefully cut the stitches loose.
Inside, I found a folded piece of paper, browned with age. It was a letter from my father, written before I was born.
“My Dearest Anna,” it began, “if you’re reading this, it means my time has come, or perhaps you found this by chance.”
My heart skipped a beat. My father had died in a car accident when I was just a baby, and I grew up knowing him only through stories my mom told. They always painted him as a kind, gentle soul.
“I know our time together on this earth is uncertain,” the letter continued, “but I want you to know how deeply I love you. Our little one will grow in your image, and though I may not see them grow, I pray they know my love is sewn into the fabric of their life.”
Tears blurred my vision as I read on. He spoke of dreams he had for us, for me, and thanked my mom for giving him the happiest years of his life, despite their brevity.
In that moment, everything shifted. I realized the quilt was more than just a collection of fabric pieces—it was a tapestry of love and memory. Each patch was a small part of their lives together, sewn with intent and filled with stories I’ve never heard. My mom had kept this truth beneath layers of old fabric, perhaps to protect me, or perhaps as a way to keep him close.
I spent the rest of the night tracing each patch, trying to decode the stories they might hold, crying and laughing at the shared love I never fully understood until now.
I woke the next morning with clarity I’ve never known—a deep connection to my roots, to the love that created me. My mom’s quiet strength in carrying this quilt, my dad’s enduring love from beyond, stitched into my life in ways I never appreciated.
Since then, I’ve started quilting myself, each piece a new memory, a new dream, a continued legacy. My quilt won’t be hidden; it will be a living, breathing document of who I am, what I’ve grown to understand, and the love that carries me forward.
Thanks for reading this. Maybe you have an old quilt, a box of ‘things,’ or something seemingly mundane that holds deeper meaning. I urge you to look closer— the past may hold the key to understanding who you are today.