A Quilt for Comfort

Today, Maribeth came over, and we sewed our first prototype quilt for Children's Hospital. Let me explain the project...

Katie had a quilt (mentioned in an earlier blog posting) which she took with her to the hospital, by grace. I think I also mentioned that I am very much a BEGINNING seamstress, yet I had made that particular quilt, with help from Rita, who is an ADVANCED seamstress (among her many other talents). It was very well-loved, all the way to the day Katie passed away. She took it everywhere she went during her illness, to every scan, procedure and appointment. She slept with it. I have been sleeping with it myself, since she passed away. This is a photo of it, folded so that you can see both sides. It is soft as a whisper, threadbare in places, torn open in others from wear, use, love, service. It has satin binding and is flannel on one side, with cotton quilt fabric on the other. The colors (primarily yellows) coordinate well. The quilt fabric has different state flowers on it. When we were really bored, sometimes we would study those. I am so grateful to be the person whose hands made a gift that gave Katie comfort every single day.

Since Katie got so much comfort from that blanket, I was thinking how good it might be to make them for other kids...particularly those who may end up at the hospital in shock, like we did. If you had to go to the hospital suddenly, possibly far away from home, would it be nice to find a soft, thick, warm, handmade blanket at the end of your unfamiliar bed? I think it might. I spoke to several friends who sew, and everyone agreed.

Maribeth is one of those friends. MB is a cancer survivor herself. Whenever she would sing a solo in church, I would sit in a pew, listening and crying, because I was so happy that she survived. She is one of the first people I called the day that Katie's tumor was discovered. She has been a rock for me throughout this whole nightmare, one of the people I can bare my deepest feelings to, complain, laugh, be appropriate or inappropriate with, dark or light...and know that whatever is, is okay. She and I (and Katie) share a similar sense of humor, and she NEVER patronizes. She loved Katie dearly, and they had quite the bantering relationship over the years.

MB's daughter, Taylor, was one of Katie's teenage role models. We call her "da bomb," because she is so pretty, talented and sweet. Katie and I would always go to see MB and Taylor perform in local musical theatre productions. Katie loved watching her friends on stage, and they inspired her to try the BPA Theatre School, which she loved very much.

When Katie was sick, she and Taylor spent many hours watching their favorite movies, sitting on the couch or on Katie's bed, relaxing together. Katie could just be silent with Tay, and they could do nothing, very happily together. Taylor was a great comfort to Katie, and brought joy to her last weeks. She was one of the few people who were always welcome in Katie's room.

Taylor decided to take on the quilts as her Senior Project in high school. She is going to assemble simple quilt kits for people to purchase; the proceeds will go to Children's Hospital, and the blankets can be sewed from the kits, and donated to the Hospital, if the buyer wishes.

So today, MB and I tried our hands at sewing a prototype, since we need one to show to family and friends who will want to buy the kits. It is flannel on one side, and cotton quilt fabric on the other, with satin binding, like Katie's. It turned out well, and it was really fun to work on it together. I can see this becoming a good thing; it's therapeutic, and a good time to chat, while accomplishing something worthwhile. As the project gets underway, I will post more info.

October 10 - Year 1

This is the day, one year ago, that we went to Children's Hospital in Seattle through the Emergency Room entrance, and stayed. We were terrified. We were questioned for hours, by many teams of doctors. We waited. We tried to help Katie relax. We called our parents.

Thank goodness that she had the foresight to bring her favorite cozy blanket with her, the one that I made (I am not a good seamstress) with Rita's help. That blanket went everywhere with her, the entire time she was in the hospital, to every scan, procedure, room change and appointment, as a shawl, a cover, a cloak, a mask & an air filter. It is now on our bed. She was funny about it: there was a "right" side and a "wrong" side, an "up" side and a "down" side. I am the only one who understood this. And I keep it the way she liked it, on my bed. She would never let me mend it. It has some holes in it, and it is wearing thin, but I was not allowed to sew it up. I was allowed to wash it, as long as it was back with her by the end of the day.

It would be hard to describe the quality of our fear. I could tell you about it in several ways, but the one that comes to mind is this: at this hospital, with the combined resources of the University of Washington Medical Center, the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center, and Children's Hospital's own renowned doctors, we were told, "We never see this." "In 25 years, I have never seen this." "This is very rare in adults, and even more rare in children." "It is inoperable, and it is not chemo-responsive." Here we had a perfectly healthy child, who just happened to slow down and have a slight fever, on and off for 3 weeks, and --WHAMMO!-- it is revealed that she has a tumor extending throughout her abdomen. One, huge, invasive tumor, and it has entered her heart.

So on this day, this year, I need to stop and say, oh, how I recall the awful feelings of that day. So much has happened since then. The world has become a darker place, for me, yet I learned & saw many important things along the way. The worst thing I learned, at least as I see it today, is that you can work as hard as you know how to work, with all of the experts and expertise available, with the best of intentions, surrounded by good will in amounts that you never dreamed possible, with a love so great that it's hard to believe it flows through one human heart, and you may still have to watch your child suffer and die. That is why the world looks so different to me now; that, and the fact that the light of one lovely, feisty, gorgeous, hilarious, spritely, creative 12-year-old girl is no longer with me in this place.