The patchwork was colorful and perfect. As a child, it kept me warm and safe, and served as the perfect picnic blanket on my bedroom floor with my toys. Each patch was a reflection of something else, a scrap of a bigger purpose. I studied that quilt with my eyes and my hands, so when I noticed that my Grandma’s pants or my Grampaw’s bathrobe shared the same fabrics, I knew that my Grandma had made those pants and that bathrobe, and that the colorful squares in my quilt were scraps from her other projects. The border and backing fabric matched my curtains, white with colorful polka dots. This quilt that was made for me by my Grandma with such love and care will stay with me forever, and it will be passed down through my family. That’s the thing about quilts; they stay with you.