I started a black and white quilt when Kim was sick. I struggled with it and put it away when we started packing and moving. Iâ€™ve pulled it out three times now and am just this side of putting it away again.
I’ve added some red and blue to the black and white and thought I knew how this quilt would honour her. In my artsy fartsy way, I see the symbols of penguins and New Mexico red chile! (pure Kim).
If you are new to this bloggy thing â€” and Iâ€™m pretty sure the three of you that read this, are not. You know I make quilts when loved ones die.
Actually, Iâ€™ve been a quilter for over 30 years. I started quilting to give myself something to do in my first year of sobriety. I continue because the process of cutting fabric up and sewing it all back together again gives me not only comfort, but a nice blanket. Over the last 10 or 15 years, making quilts has been one way I grieve.
Brother Billâ€™s quilt just about made itself. Angry angles and jagged edges came together in a warm and healing way though cutting up old fabric and sewing it all back together.
Kimâ€™s quilt is another story.
I am really struggling with it. It just seems wrong, no matter what I do. I add colours, concepts, more. It is getting bigger and bigger. I try different. I make it smaller, cut it all up again, run to the fabric store for that missing piece. I add a border, throw it all off balance, and never once consider tradition.
It’s just so wrong. It seems so clichÃ©.
Iâ€™m pissed off. I miss her. I am not working though anything with this process.
I realize itâ€™s probably because, as far as I can tell, Kimâ€™s death is all so wrong.
Update: the seam ripper has come out – I’m starting over.