Quilt of Life

By mercy and truth iniquity is purged: and by the fear of the LORD [men] depart from evil. Proverbs 16:6 KJV.

Sixty-year-old Liz Glover recognized the number of the person calling, and debated about answering. Her conscience got the better of her. She lifted the cell phone to her ear.

“Hello, Renee,” Liz said to her baby sister.

“Hello, Liz,” said Renee. “I know you hate to have me call. But I really need your help.”

“I won’t babysit your eight-year-old grandson again! He locked me out of your house and made faces at me.”

“No. That’s not it. It’s Mother. You know she’s 85-years-old. She can’t afford her medical bills as well as for home health care.” Renee paused. “To get financial help, she must sell her house. She refuses to sell it. Even to the point she says she’d rather die in it than go to a nursing home. I’ve been helping her. But I can’t take it anymore!”

Liz responded with irritation in her voice. “And you thought since I’m not married. And don’t have grandchildren, I would take off from my business just because you asked. No! I take care of my customers. I can’t take her on! You’re her favorite child. You do it!”

Renee sheepishly answered. “It would be so easy for you. And I’m getting tired of how she talks about missing you. She feels you hate her.”

Liz ignored the comments about herself. “I. Have. A. Business. To. Run!”

Renee whined. “Just for two weeks? At least?”

“I won’t do it 24/7.”

“I’m paying my sixteen-year-old granddaughter to stay with her at night.”

Liz opened her mouth in a deep sigh. She dragged out the next statement, “I suppose I should…”

Renee said a quiet but emphatic “Yes.”

“But only for two weeks. Right?”

“Right. Thanks, Sis. Goodbye.”

Liz slammed her phone shut and wondered how she would be able to stand the stay.

***** At Mother’s house *****

“Mother, are you home?” Liz stepped into the house, hardly recognizing it. Years ago, her mother made her clean the windows until spotless. Now fly specks dotted the window and spider webs adorned the corners. The carpet may be clean, but someone never used carpet cleaner to clear up the stains. Not like when Mother made her vacuum it every day. Her irritation grew as she realized how her hard work of past years was given so little respect.

Liz found her mother, Ina Glover, in bed taking a nap. She was going to leave her mother asleep when the old woman called to her.

“Liz. Is it really you?! I’m so glad to see you. I can’t believe it. I’m so glad to see you!”

I wish I could say the same, thought Liz. “It’s me.”

“Help me out of bed. I can’t sit up very good.”

Liz put her arm under the old woman’s underarm and lifted to a sitting position.

“I can’t bend over to put my slippers on.”

Liz tightened her lips and squatted to put the slippers on.

“Help me stand, then bring me my walker. I want to sit in my recliner.” Again, Liz put her arm under her mother’s arm and lifted. The old woman stood. Liz remained in position as she waited a few moments for the old woman’s wobbling to stop. With the walker, she made it to the recliner by herself, into which she promptly plopped. Liz sat on the couch.

“You’ve let someone off the hook,” said Liz. “Your windows aren’t clean. Like you made me clean them.”

Mother nodded. “Perfection isn’t as important as I used to think it was…Would you make some coffee?”

Liz went to the kitchen. ‘Perfection isn’t as important as I used to think.’ That doesn’t sound like her. She found a cheaper brand of coffee than was used years ago. Does it take more grinds to make it? She shrugged her shoulders and made it like she used to. Years left her able to withstand the anticipation of her mother’s complaints.

“Here’s your coffee.” She set the cup on the table next to the recliner.

“Thank you, dear,” said Mother.

Liz waited for a complaint of being too strong or too weak, but it didn’t come. “Aren’t you going to complain about how I made it?”

“No, I can’t complain. I’d do it myself, but I can’t anymore. I needed you to do it, and I thank you again.” Mother took a good look at Liz. “You’re beautiful. Not a pound over or under weight. Lovely black and white roan hair.”

Liz was caught off guard. Her mother never complimented her all the years she could remember. Acceptance of imperfectly cleaned windows, no complaints about the coffee, compliment on my looks. Had Mother changed? “Aren’t you going to tell me to get to work cleaning or doing something?”

“No. I’m too thankful that you are here. I’ve been praying you’d come before I die. I remember the Mother’s Day card Renee made in third grade. It had hearts and flowers all over it.” Mother swallowed hard. “I don’t have any memories like that of you.”

Liz felt mean. “You threw the Mother’s Day card I made for you on the table. It ended in the trash.

Ina’s shoulders sagged. “I wish I’d have saved it.”

Liz rolled her eyes.

Mother sat up a little as she changed the subject. “Do you remember my quilts? My hands shake too much now to sew. But oh, how I loved quilting! I loved choosing the colors of the blocks and seeing how they went to together. I remember making Bear’s Claw pattern, Starflower, and Log Cabin quilts. Do you remember them?”

“Not really,” said Liz.

“Oh well.” Ina held her hands as if she was still piecing together the triangles. “This one went here and that one went there. I laid it all out on my bed. I gave each grandchild a quilt made just for them. Did I give you any, Liz?”

Liz set her jaw. “I didn’t like them. My feet stuck out from under them.”

“Oh… I had to make them that size because my quilting frame was that size…” Ina’s eyes pleaded with Liz. “Did you like any of them?”

Not really, thought Liz. “I remember the Crazy Quilt.” Memories of her plans to escape home came to mind.

Ina smiled. “I only made one of them. All those different shapes,” she said slowly. “I started with a center piece. Then I planned how to include those triangles. It wasn’t easy. I worked in a circle, trimming here and there to make it into a block. One that fit with the rest of the blocks…I wish you had liked to sew quilts too.”

“As I recall,” said Liz, “you yelled at me if I played with the pieces. You didn’t want to take the time to teach me.” The daughter remembered purposely ignoring her mother’s quilting efforts.

“Ina’s face sagged. “That must have hurt you. I’m so sorry.”

Liz tilted her head up and didn’t say anything.

“My memories,” said Ina. “are filled with regrets. I didn’t take enough pictures of you.” She looked down. “I was busy with Renee.” The mother looked Liz in the eye. “I didn’t take time with you. I didn’t play board games with you when you were little. I didn’t want to be bothered with 4-H meetings and taking you to sports practices. That must have made it seem like I didn’t care about you.” Tears formed in Ina’s eyes. “Forgive me. I have so many regrets. Liz, I don’t know which ones hurt you the most.”

“You did hurt me,” said Liz. “You wouldn’t let me date at sixteen, but you did Renee. She went to college with your money. And your car. While you made me build my business from scratch by myself. Renee was your favorite. Of course, you loved her more than me.”

Now Ina cried with sobs. “You are so right. Forgive me. All my memories of you are regrets. Forgive me.” Ina covered her face with her hands as she cried. Then she said, “I have to ask your forgiveness. Whether or not you forgive me, I have to ask.”

Liz’ head wavered as she listened to her mother admit to the truth. Maybe. Just maybe. Mother had changed; maybe she cared now. “Forgiveness doesn’t erase my memories. Or my feelings. I could say, ‘I forgive you’, but I don’t know how long it would take to forgive you from my heart.”

“I understand. I’m begging for your mercy. Just saying you’ll forgive me means a lot to me. I’d like you to have that Crazy Quilt. It’s like our memories, you and me. Lots of little bits and pieces. Some are ugly. Ugly as how I treated you. I am crushed by my memories, but I found God’s mercy and forgiveness. Whether or not you forgive me, I am at peace for having His.” Ina looked at Liz through tearful eyes. “If you can forgive me, I believe God can finish our lives by putting us together in ways that please Him. A memorable design. Just like the Crazy Quilt. I want to make new, good memories with you.”

Mercy. I have the power to give her mercy. Liz looked at the ceiling as she fought within herself. How little I thought of the positive things she did for me! What if I was in her place? I would want forgiveness too. She closed her eyes before looking at her mother. How else can I respond to her other than to agree to try to make good memories?

The mother held out her arms showing she wanted a hug.

“I forgive you,” said Liz in a monotone voice. She really didn’t feel like it. But she had to start somewhere. She leaned down and gave her mother a hug.