Epilogue

My dearest son,

This quilt is the story of your family and the love that binds us together as truly as the threads that hold together these pieces of cloth.

I began this quilt as a new bride. I didn’t know any more about sewing than I did about being a wife, but I knew about love. The pieces of my wedding dress are in here and form the center block. They are the delicate spring-green swatches. It’s the same green, by the way, you’ll see when the first wildflowers poke their brave stems through the winter-worn earth.

There are a few patches of white in this quilt. They are cut from the shirt your father wore when we got married. Ah, John, what a fine figure he presented that day! I can still see him in my mind, so elegant, so handsome, so sure … and so very much in possession of my heart.

The little patches were once your blanket. This was the first earthly fabric that touched your newborn skin. Yellow-spotted flannel looked so warm against your infant skin, like God had poured sun around your tiny body. It was cold the night you were born—so cold the doctor’s breath froze midair—but you quickly warmed our hearts.

As our family grew, so did our love—and the quilt. Notice how the stitches get more even and practiced on the outer patches. I was just learning in the center section, but the patches, straggly though they may be, are still holding together after many years of hard use.

Love is like that, John. At first, it’s all very new and awkward, but if you’re willing to put your heart into it, it’ll hold steadfast. There aren’t any silk or satin or velvet pieces in this quilt, but to me, its beauty far exceeds the grandest coverlet. Even the littlest, most mundane pieces of life make an extraordinary tapestry when united by love … these scraps of love.

Your loving mother, Brigit Streeter Collins