I used to think Christmas smelled like fresh balsam and old cotton, because every year my great grandma Leah would hand me a quilt she made. It was already folded neatly, but when I would open it, it felt warm, like a blanket I have had for years. She chose patterns I loved, she told me small stories about where she sourced the fabric. When she died suddenly, it felt unreal, It didn't seem right at all. The last time I visited her we played slap jack for hours laughing the whole time, she walked me to the door and I left not knowing it would be the last time I saw her alive. Last time I visited her she looked normal, healthy, and the same as usual, which made everything harder to understand. Grief came quietly, then all at once, hitting me in waves when I least expected it. Sometimes it still feels strange to say she's gone. On the nights I miss her most, I wrap myself in one of her quilts. The stitches are perfect, she was so talented, it makes the blankets feel alive with youth. The blankets smell faintly of her home and when I close my eyes I can picture her holding a needle. I am grateful she gave me pieces of her love that I can still hold. Even though she's gone, her quilts remind me that I was deeply loved. They keep me warm in the winter but also keep her close, especially at Christmas. I think she knew one day I would need them more than I ever knew then. Every quilt feels like a goodbye and a hug all in one.

– Harper

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