Grateful to be featured alongside these other creative mamas. Side hustle FTW!
I remember running up to Tom for a big bear hug. “There’s someone I want you to meet,” he said. “Her name’s Meghan, and I just know you two are going to hit it off.”
He couldn’t have been more right.
We spent the whole night talking treatment, toddlers, tattoos, and the dreaded “C” word. But then we talked about our love of writing, specifically children’s books, and our dreams of being published one day. Meanwhile, our husbands connected over the ins-and-outs of being married to amazing women like us. 😉
We spent the weekend at the Team Gina Golf Tournament getting to know each other and traded numbers, setting sushi lunch dates since we both worked in Lake Mary and loved sushi.
One morning, you texted me you had to reschedule our lunch. Your cancer was back—and it was bad.
We still met up for lunch when we could, laughing afterward because we always forgot to take a picture. I begged to be your assistant to help you with a fundraising event for your family, and I begged God at night to keep you here.
One day, you asked me to cut up your wedding dress. “For Jacob,” you said.
When you handed it to me I panicked, but you just laughed in your brilliant way and hugged my neck tight.
You and your love were married on the beach and had dreamed one day to live there, graying hair on your heads and his hand in yours. I wanted that dream for you so much it hurt. When I told you my idea to make the quilt look like a beach scene, your instantaneous excitement was just the confirmation I needed.
Your dress and his suit; the lining of his coat; the buttons on his sleeve and the pleats in your bust; the satin of your skirt and the faint wine drops on the leg of his pant; these are stitched together beneath the rolling waves of an ocean, with sun glinting and soft white caps swirling out to a sunrise–or a sunset–both equally appreciated by your love for all things beautiful.
Big J’s suit coat pocket is secretly sewn on the back so Little J can leave you love notes, or stuff his hand or little trinkets inside.
When folded, it is wrapped in your sequin-embroidered bodice, backed in satin from your skirt. I couldn’t leave it out, but I didn’t want it to make your blanket scratchy. An ivory button from my treasured grandmother’s stash, and ivory satin ribbon, helps keep it secure.
Every stitch holds love, hope, tears, memories, promises, fire, strength, courage, life, and you, rising. You are all of these things to so many — and you always will be.
We are broken, but we know you are whole, and I believe we will see each other again someday.
Next time, we won’t forget to take a picture.
I like to imagine that one day, decades from now, this quilt will be folded nicely in a box, maybe a wooden chest, wrapped in paper, or maybe stuffed with mothballs next to baby blankets and forgotten treasures and trinkets. And one day, her great grandchild will discover it and wonder about the pleats, the pattern, the story.
She gently brushes away an ancient grain of sand or two as she traces her small fingers over the batik waves, the yellowed ivory silk, and the wine-stained linen. She smiles at the sunburst and makes up stories about the animals below the water’s surface, and she smiles wider when her family tells her that her great-grandma Meghan was a storyteller too.
I’ve been piecing together the waves using a technique called curved piecing. It’s taken a bit to get the hang of it, but the waves seem to be taking shape. There’s an ebb and flow I want to capture; a movement I want to mimic–smooth sweeping swells with whitecaps and light fading into dark, lit with a sunburst that’s neither coming nor going.
I must get it just right. Their story demands it; deserves it. As every word of a story must be chosen as sacred, so every story is sacred in itself. Each cut, each stitch, is a word chosen, a ripple in the water that reaches outward across oceans and across time.
The sunlight and the breeze today are really bringing these waves to life.