MY SISTER'S QUILT

“To me, squirrels symbolize lightheartedness, fun, joy and the value of not taking life too seriously. These are all things I wanted for L….”

I’m having trouble finishing my sister L.’s quilt. I’ve been working on it for more than a year and only the last bit remains—hand-sewing the loose ends of thread between the quilt’s layers, a process known as burying the threads—but even though I’ve told myself so many times to just sit down and do it, somehow it still remains to be done.

When L. was about 10 and I was 12, she said something I considered strange—exactly what, I don’t remember—and as siblings do, I started teasing her about being weird. But instead of laughing along with me, she looked stricken and afraid, and I felt terrible remorse and immediately said I was sorry, I didn't mean it. She said, "No, I think there really is something wrong with me, with my brain." I felt so helpless. I wanted to help her but had no idea how.

The quilt is made from fabric panels printed with very cute woodland creatures. I came across the fabric several years ago and loved it so much, I made myself a pillow with a hedgehog panel. It turned out so well, I decided to make more pillows to give as gifts. The squirrel panel was meant to be a birthday-gift pillow for L.

She struggled with mental illness most of her life and suffered great shame and pain as a result. As an adult, in her better days, she freelanced by organizing people’s closets and de-cluttering their living spaces. When she was doing well, she was able to harness her creativity; she acted in plays, wrote poetry and attended film school for a time. She could be extremely driven and efficient. But she wasn’t good at being consistent, staying in touch, respecting boundaries or understanding that other people struggled too.

To me, squirrels symbolize lightheartedness, fun, joy and the value of not taking life too seriously. These are all things I wanted for L., but I never got the chance to give her the pillow. She passed away 18 days before her 52nd birthday, about a week before the pandemic started.

I’d taken up quilting a year or so before L. died, and last spring, around the second anniversary of her passing, I felt an urgency to make quilts for the people in my family. My older sister doesn’t like small calico prints, so for her I chose a modern print with large jewel-toned flowers. For my mother I went with a black, red and white fabric collection with a Paris motif that reminded me of a glamorous Chanel-type jacket she wore when I was a child. For my youngest sister, rainbow colors to brighten up even the cloudiest day. For my cousin, a black, white and gray floral design to complement his Manhattan apartment’s décor.

A part of me can’t bear the thought of L. feeling left out, so last fall, her squirrel pillow morphed into a quilt, even though I know I’ll never be able to send it to her. She did not have an easy time in this earthly realm, and while I understand that her struggles are now over, I wish I could have given her this symbol of protection and refuge from life’s vicissitudes while she was still here. My husband suggested that when I finish it, we keep her quilt in our home in her memory. I love that idea. I’m just giving myself time to bury the threads.

—Pola Russo

L., age 8. Years later, when I told her I’d always loved this photo, she said, "You can't tell because I'm smiling, but actually I was mad at the bunny because it tried to bite me!" I love remembering how that made us laugh.

---

Pola Russo (not her real name) lives in New York.

---

---

Have a story to share? Please see the complete submission guidelines, including photo guidelines, at TheKeepthings.com.

---

---