Feeling grateful for rivers, quilters, friends, and family

There is someone out there I will never be able to thank for the gift they gave us. I don’t know who it is, but I picture a retired lady with kindly eyes and a sewing room stuffed to the gills.

That person made a tiny quilt for a tiny person they didn’t know, belonging to a family they knew they wouldn’t meet. Still, they took so much care, using beautiful, sweet-patterned fabric, making sure all the seams were strong and even.

We brought this quilt home from the hospital thirteen years ago today, without our baby. I have thought about the anonymous quilter many times since then, wishing I could say thanks. And in fact, there are two quilters I would thank, because Sebastian was actually wrapped in a different tiny quilt the night he was born. It bundled him up during the only night I held him in my arms. It had monkeys on it. That is not the one they sent home with us, but both are dear to me.

What a lovely, heartful thing to do for a stranger. I’m sending this thank you into the ether, for all the quilters who make quilts for babies that never get big enough to need another.

I’m also feeling really grateful right now for last week, which we spent with some precious extended family in North Carolina. In particular, there was an afternoon we spent by (and in) the river, surrounded by mountains covered in forest. It was like being inside this song by Ben Sollee. It’s a song that comforted me that summer our baby died and was born, even though it’s about old age. (Or maybe because it is.)

And – I’m so grateful to you for reading this, and to all the sweet people who have sent loving thoughts this week. Thank you so very much for caring. Thirteen years is a long time, but sometimes it feels like a blink.

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