The Mommy Quilt

When I was growing up, there was little money to be found in our home. My father had a very bad habit of quitting much-needed jobs. He also had the habit of spending every thin dime he had, as well as several he did not have. This made for a very tight existence, money-wise.

Christmas, the year that I was seven years old, was like many others in my then short life. No money to pay all of the bills let alone any extras. No money for Christmas presents. Period.

This fact did not stop my sweet mama. My mama is a survivor, tough as they come. She got up at dark-thirty every morning, worked all day in a hot kitchen, and came home, meeting us with a smile on her face, as we got off of the school bus. She would not allow a little thing like not having money deter her from giving her children presents on Christmas.

Someone had given my sweet mama some material sometime over the years. She drug it out, cut it into squares, and started making us quilts with an ancient sewing machine that was quite cantankerous at best.

But here’s the thing. My mama didn’t even know how to make a quilt; she just started, figuring it out as she went. And not only did she make one. She made TWO. One for my brother, and one for me.

I loved my quilt. LOVED it. It kept me warm on those frigid nights in the little trailer with only wood stove heat. It was so pretty. Reds, pinks, blues…all combined in different patterns…all so wonderful. I promptly named it my “Mommy Quilt.”

Thirty years (and two patch jobs) later, this quilt, the Mommy Quilt, still graces my bed. It is much more than a quilt to me now. It is a symbol. A symbol of a mother’s love against adversity. A symbol of home when I first moved oh so far away to Purdue. A symbol of family when I set up a home of my own. A symbol of strength and power that against all odds, I was able to overcome my environment because of my sweet mama’s unfailing belief that I would rise above our situation.

My mama was right, you know. I was able to rise above the enormous poverty of my youth. So was my mama. We now live in comfortable homes, enjoying and living life to the fullest. We are now able to get each other wonderful, somewhat costly, gifts. However the cost of the gift doesn’t matter. The best reminder of my sweet mama’s love for me is my Mommy Quilt.

Every night, as I pull the Mommy Quilt up, over my ear (as my mama did for me oh so many nights throughout my childhood,) I thank the Lord for giving me a mother with such strength, such tenacity, such stick-to-itiveness, and such love.

My mother is my hero. She always has been, and always will be. Plain and simple.  The following quote personifies my sweet mama…

'She broke the bread into two fragments and gave them to her children, who ate with eagerness. 'She hath kept none for herself,' grumbled the sergeant.' 'Because she is not hungry,' said a soldier. 'No,' said the sergeant, 'because she is a mother.' ~ Victor Hugo

I love you, mom.

~Annie