Two weeks before Thanksgiving, I entered the local library for a book, and I saw the most incredibly beautiful king size quilt hanging on display behind glass. I stood for several moments mesmerized by the lovely simplistic yet intricate design of the quilt, and to my surprise, the quilt’s was named “Babe.”
I felt and sensed a presence of contentment within me as I was transfixed by its beauty.
At the bottom of the display was a photo of nine women who created the quilt and low and behold one of the women was the person who took the wicker basket from me earlier in the year.
I felt drawn to track down and meet the designers, and although it took a couple of weeks, I was able to meet the group of women who gathered on the first Wednesday evening at a local church.
I somehow calmed my nerves, to meet the women and on the evening I entered the basement of the church, the woman were seated around a large table and the lady I met months earlier immediately recognized me and wave to me.
We shook hands, as she introduces herself as Mrs. Edith Deavers.
I told her how I was impressed with the beauty of the quilt on display in the library and how it captured my attention and as I stood before the display, I felt an emotional connection.
Then, I asked why did she name the quilt “Babe?”
She explained how she watched my facial and physical response as I read the letter found in the wicker basket and she noticed my physical and verbal response when I finished the letter responding with, “I love you, babe.”
She further explained how at the end of her shift at the Salvation Army, for some unknown reason she cried all the way home.
Several days passed when she began to pieces together the patches of fabric from the wicker basket, to design the quilt. For some reason she found herself overwhelmed emotionally and began crying again and could not start to develop the quilt.
She enlisted the help of her quilting group, with whom she told, how she came into possession of the patches of fabrics and they all became emotional, and they decided to work as a group to develop the quilt’s patchwork design.
As she told me the story, her fellow quilters walked over to where were we were standing, and we all shared an emotional soothing cry as Mrs. Deavers finished the story.
I was feeling embarrassed with tears in my eyes and wanted to say goodbye, to when Mrs. Deavers asked me to join the women quilters group.
I was stunned and speechless by her question, as I tried to answer with my moist eyes and somehow I verbally mumbled, yes.
So, for the past two months on Wednesday evenings from 5:00 pm – 8:00 pm. I am a passionately enthusiastic novice quilter, with women who’s empathetic love, compassion, insights, and wisdom allow me to memorialize the love for my Joyce.
I have spent the past fourteenth-months attending this grief counseling group and I have chosen today to speak for the first time. Because of the unimaginable loss, of my Joyce, has taught me our love for one another burns continuously within me with the heat of a million suns. Joyce is my creative muse and inspiration to design quilts.
So as I continue forward in life, I will encourage others who have lost a loved one, that we must live for those who have passed on.
The mixture of depression, grief and love have inspired me to write poetry, and this is my first poem, that I have titled “Love Patches.”
A great friendship forms the foundation for love to bond two people to sustain a relationship last forever.
During a lifetime together, love grows stronger, building and strengthening a thick thread, binding patches of memories.
Love is a warm quilt, surrounding two people with memories of their lives with love.
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