When I was very little, someone
sent the missionaries (i.e. my parents) three blankets. One green, one blue, one pink. It was a well-intentioned gift with two problems. A) They were for USA-standard twin-sized beds
and we had jungle-standard Dad-made beds that were decidedly narrower. And B) my parents had four children. Not
three.
It was a gift of love that slightly
missed the mark. What Mom did with that imperfect gift has stayed with me
throughout my life.
She carefully cut off the excess
material from each blanket, leaving the original blankets the proper width for
my siblings' beds. Then she sewed the
three strips together, took a wide ribbon and sewed it over each seam. More ribbon was added around the edge of the tri-color piece and - voilà! A one-of-a-kind blanket just for me. She told me it was special because it had a
bit of each of my siblings in it.
It also had a lot of Mom in
it. Her resourcefulness, her
determination to make things work, her conviction that family mattered: they
were stitched into that blanket as firmly as they were sewn into her life.
I still have that blanket. Faded, falling apart with age, it is a
tangible reminder of my mother's gifts in the face of imperfection.
Today, it is also a reminder of how
deeply Mom loved each of her children.
And for my mother's gift of love, I
am forever grateful.
A Beautiful metaphor signifying your place in the family and mom's. Wow. Thanks Carol.
ReplyDeleteHeartwarming and beautiful. Thank you for sharing at this difficult time.
ReplyDeleteWhat a treasured memory and snuglie that embodies so much of your mother's character and love. Lovely story, Carol. Praying strength and peace and comfort for you and your brothers and sister as you grieve and celebrate your mom's life, together.
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