It’s amazing what a child’s mind holds onto that creates the person they become.
It was mainly red fabric with little yellow and white flowers with black stems. I don’t know who made it, or how I came to have it but I do remember it, my first quilt. I was no more than five or six years old when I received it. I loved my quilt. Then my quilt went away.
I remember the last time I saw my quilt. My little sister, my cousin and I accompanied my parents as they helped my aunt move. The last of her things in the car, we drive off, I saw a man standing there with my quilt in his hands. Why did he have my quilt? I would never see my quilt again.
I grew up, didn’t think about the quilt. It was like it never existed. Then sometime in my teen years I became fascinated with quilts. I had no idea why. I didn’t question it, I let the fascination sink in and take hold. It wasn’t intense and all-consuming but always there in the back of my mind; one day you will make a quilt.
As the years passed the need to make a quilt became stronger and stronger. I began collecting fabric; buying dresses that I knew would become part of a quilt someday. I began watching quilting shows on TV. Then at the age of thirty-five I began the making of my first quilt. When it was finished two years later I knew I had done something I was meant to do.
As I began this blog my family asked me where this desire to quilt came from. I shared this memory with them. None of them remember this quilt. I do not know if the quilt I remember truly existed, but the memory of it does and I am thankful for it. Thankful because it has given me a passion to create real memories with real quilts for the people I love. To the maker of my memory quilt, thank you for the gift you have given me.