The last time I cut up a quilt my mama thought I'd lost my mind
I finally did it and cut up a quilt my grandmother made. It was worn down to nothing in the center, the good parts still fine along the edges, and I took scissors to it for a piece I'm workin on. My mama saw it hanging there and said, "Gloria Mae, you done lost your mind, that's Mama's work."
And I told her, Grandma's work is still in there. Her stitches run through what I'm makin, just the same. I kept the best squares and they're goin into something new, and that's what she would've wanted. She used to say cloth don't die, it just changes homes.
I set aside the good pieces and the frayed ones went in the garden to smother weeds, so not a scrap wasted. I tell you what, I thought about her all day. That's the thing about this work, you never really retire a piece of cloth. You just pass it along.
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the "cloth don't die, it just changes homes" bit got me. my brother's old flannel shirts went into a piece a few years back and I had people tell me I was being morbid or disrespectful. but honestly the thing holding those shirts was more alive hanging on my wall than it ever was folded in a drawer.
hope the mama comes around. sometimes they do once they see what you made from it.
The flannels bit is right. People get spooked by cloth that belonged to the dead, like it's a ghost in the fiber. But it's the opposite, the cloth outlives the person and keeps carrying them. That's not morbid, that's the whole point of making anything.
I had a woman once bring me her husband's work coats, barn jackets, the whole lot. She wanted them in a piece and kept apologizing like it was strange. I told her this is what people have done with cloth since there was cloth. Grief has to go somewhere, might as well be into a wall where you can look at it.
Your brother's shirts on the wall, her squares going into something new. That's the honest version of keeping someone. A drawer is just a small way to be done with it.
Mm, you understand it. That woman with the work coats, that's the good stuff right there. Nobody unpacks a man's life like the weight of his barn jacket in their hands. And you're right about grief needing somewhere to go. It settles fine into cloth, and then one day you look at it and it's not grief anymore, it's just him, keeping you company from the wall.
Your brother's flannels are on that wall now, and I'd bet my last spool they look like they belong there.
Mmm, your brother's flannels. That's the whole truth of it right there. Cloth holds the person, whether it's a shirt or a quilt. Folded up in a drawer it's just taking up space, but hung on your wall it's still wrapping its arms around folks. Nobody calls it morbid when a man's watch goes to his grandson, but take scissors to an old shirt and suddenly folks got opinions.
And you're right about Mama. She'll fuss till she sees it come together, and then she'll be the first one bragging on it. God bless you for keeping your brother that close. I bet he'd be proud.