"Every stitch is stitched with love. If youcould count the number of stitches in this quilt, that is how much I loveyou."
This is what my grandmother told me the day she gave me myquilt. It has become a tradition for her to hand-sew two quilts for each of herfive grandchildren, one before we were born and one on our eighth birthdays.After waiting what seemed like an eternity, my grandmother finished my secondquilt.
Long before my birthday I had picked the colors for my quilt:purple and pink. Every time my grandmother came over I would ask her how muchlonger until she finished it. Every time she would show me how much she haddone.
Receiving my second quilt symbolized my maturity, since it meant Iwas old enough to appreciate such a precious gift. My first quilt - my baby quilt- fits a single bed, while my second was made for a double bed to last many yearsand bring me into adulthood.
The finished product was a magnificent quiltof purple and white with beige, pink and royal purple stars. I thought it was themost precious item I could ever have. I told my grandmother how beautiful it was,and that I would pass it down through many generations.
My quilt, likethose of my siblings, is an irreplaceable gift to be treasured for the rest of mylife. Every time I look at my bed I see the beautiful quilt I snuggle under atnight. Sometimes I trace the stitches with my finger, those stitches of love thatmy grandmother carefully and lovingly hand-stitched for months, the stitches thattightly hold the patches, border, front and back together. Every time I gaze atmy precious quilt, those stitches of love remind me of my grandmother'sunconditional, everlasting love for me.
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