Pray, Love, Remember.

Today was Finlay's birthday. And yesterday I finished my Gran's quilt. My Gran is 97. And my little girl is one.
It's hard to believe in this everyday life of rescuing glasses from coffee tables, and Finlay from the marble collection, of squashed banana underfoot and kissy smudges on windows, that a year ago I was holding a tiny bundle on my breast, trying not to fall asleep from the morphene, glad she was finally here. Two years ago we were grieving the loss of the little unexpected one we never met. Three years ago, I was done. Two toddlers felt like twenty. I'll have my body back now thank you.
And time rolls ever forward, bringing surprises and change and grief and joy. In the end, we decided on this one more, and I felt both peaceful and terrified. Would she be the one to break me? Would there be any me left?

About 70 years ago today, my gran had a little girl. Her name was Rosemary. She was Gran's first child, and at the age of six, she died of cancer. Her second child was 'born asleep' in the days when still born babies were whisked away and mothers told to move on without a moment to stop and grieve and feel. These babies did break her. And in many ways she never recovered.
In Hamlet, Ophelia says, "There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. Pray, love, remember."
I've been thinking about that today. Not that I wanted the day to be sombre, but I did want to mark the occasion, to recognise the fragility of life, the fragility of our own goals and plans, to be right here, to hold her when she let me, look her in the eye, blow raspberries, splash the bath water, eat cake, laugh. It is my way of saying, "I don't know what life will bring, but right now, you bring me joy," and also, "Even in all your mess and noise and complete lack of routine, you bring me joy."

This little girl has been our delight this year. It hasn't been the long slog my other babies were. Partly that's because she is actually incredibly easy, but it's also because in a way that has been surpising and wonderful, she has broken me. Broken my old expectations and rules, broken some of my impatience when I don't get my own way. She has chipped away at my need for control, for unbroken sleep, for doing things as planned, to have it all figured out before jumping in. She has brought out something in me I was afraid never existed.

I made this quilt for my Gran, because I have felt for some time, that even though I don't really know her old broken mind anymore, even though she lives in care, and can hardly see, I wanted to acknowledge that she is still here, still precious, still loved. I chose these 1930s reproduction prints in the hope that they would feel familiar to her, and this Ohio Star design because I love traditional, repetitive quilts which remind me of lovely old ladies and cosy homes. I used stippling for the quilting for the first time because quilts for grans are the best kind of quilts to practice new quilting techniques!
I showed the beginning of this quilt at the last Sew the Library link up, and finished it just in time for the link up today, hosted right here! I was inspired by the beautiful Ohio Stars in my favourite quilt book, Country Quilts.

So today our family and friends celebrated this little light. We watched her face as she tried her cake, and as she searched the house for the big kids and squealed when she found them, and as she wondered what on earth was that thing Grandma tied to her head.
And I thought of my lovely gran, and I felt glad for quilts and birthday cake, for moments of extravagance and beauty and fun even though they won't always be remembered. It made me feel that life really is very precious.

An InLinkz Link-up