The Dad quilt

I am a self-taught quilter. Which is to say, I probably do it wrong. But what I lack in technical prowess, I make up for in creativity and love.

Like writing, quilting is one of my ways of coping. Working with my hands was a great comfort to me during the three years Dan and I were trying (and failing) to get pregnant. I mostly make them for births, weddings, and milestone birthdays, but this is the second time I've made a "get-better" quilt.

Well. That's how it started out, anyway. I started buying the fabric the day after Dad was diagnosed. It's all the things he is to me--all the things that can be quantified graphically on fabric, anyway: cyclist, cellist, musician, traveler, doctor, outdoorsman, dog and Oreo lover, and, of course, wearer of neckties and mustaches.

It will not make him better. It cannot cure the cancer raging through his body. But it can lend him warmth and, when I'm not there, remind him of my love for him and hug him when I can't. And when he's gone, Mom can take it home and snuggle under it when she's feeling lonesome for the love of her life. And maybe, just maybe, it will bring her some measure of comfort. If it does, it will be my best quilt yet.