My brother, who died young, was buried with his quilt. Grandmother made it for him and one for me too, although she didn’t like me at all. She loved me and by the time I was six years old I understood why she didn’t like me. I accepted it, and loved her too.
I made quilts for my babies and by the time they were 7 they were using them as reading blankets, creating warm cozy places on cool days.
I’ve always told my kids if they weren’t mine on loan and I’d met them otherwise they both be my favorite people. Upon reflection, I say families are as wonderful and complicated as a good quilt top.  nancymauerman.com