The Final Command Quilt

My father died suddenly on Dec. 3. Whether it was the suddenness, all of those unresolved thoughts or the frustrations experienced by me from his last visit in August, his death has had a greater impact on me than others. I’ve never had someone so close to me die without warning. Even the supreme tragedy of my 19-year-old cousin, Aubrey, who died five years ago from cancer, came with foreknowledge to soften the blow. There is a blessing in knowing death is coming. The foreknowledge numbs you to the final moment, at least for the survivors.

Dad was killed when he was struck by a car while out for his morning workout in Reno, Nevada. He was a lifelong competitive track athlete, a distance runner and race walker. He was in Reno for an annual board meeting of the USA Track and Field committee, the overriding organization feeding athletes into the Olympics.

So, here’s what it is about my dad: He was never subtle and often ran roughshod over someone else’s sensibilities to demand his own attention. But, he had a kind heart, especially when he got out of the way of his own ego.

Earlier this year, he called me and wanted to know if I had ever made a T-shirt quilt. I told him I hadn’t but it wouldn’t be brain surgery. He said, “Fine.” Nothing else. Just “Fine.

A couple of weeks later I get this box in the mail from Florida. I open the flaps and sitting on the top of a pile of what looked like fabric was a note that said, “Make me a quilt.” Nothing else, no signature, no “Love to you and the kid.” Nadda. Under the note was a stack of T-shirts, his favorites, from his running career. There were one or two shirts in the collection that were as old as my 40 years; this I know because I remember him wearing them when I was a kid. They were from track clubs and races that meant something to him. Several of them were so worn, the threads barely held together.

I was miffed and touched at the same time, a common reaction to our interactions. Miffed came from the assumption that I had nothing else going on and the presumption that I would, of course, jump right into his Command Quilt with both gun blasting. Yet I was touched because I thought he didn’t know squat about quilting and my life at the sewing machine and here he was reaching out to me in his distinctive way to bridge us together under a blanket. I carefully unpacked the box, kept the contents and the note together and stacked them in my future projects basket.

At the moment of his death about seven months later, the T-shirts and note were still sitting in the future projects basket. “Dad’s T-shirt Quilt” remained near the top of my quilting to-do list. I’d gone so far as to purchase a couple of yards of a novelty fabric that had runners in a race on it. Yes, I wish I’d known I wouldn’t have him for much longer. And, yes, I wish I’d been able to immediately set to work on his quilt so I could see that smile on his face when I handed it to him. That’s not always the way of life and with my dad, things were always off-kilter. But, as these weeks of the New Year open, I pledge to begin working on that quilt, to see its completion and allow his T-shirts to blanket us in his love and his obsession. For years, I’ve named those quilts my family members have told me I was to make for them Command Quilts. This simple T-shirt quilt will stand as my dad’s Final Command Quilt and I will post my progress as I continue to create the quilt.