Quilt made of scraps from other projects. By Joan Ouellette's LOVE Marie sat on the rickety porch, rocking forward and back “creak cra creak, creak cra creak…” in the wicker rocking chair passed down by her mother.
Ah, the memories. Her Mom had worked nights, sometimes nights AND days, to survive and raise their family of two. Marie stroked the quilt on her lap, feeling the squares, softened, just right, over time. This comforted her thighs beneath the blanket, legs now tired from raising her own child, who died from an IED explosion in Afghanistan, after comforting her husband, who died after years of Dementia.
Marie thought back to making this quilt as a clever little girl. One night when she could not sleep, hearing sirens passing in this 3rd ward 2-bedroom house, she started sewing together T-shirts that her Mom was planning to recycle into rags. When her Mom saw the creative endeavor, she did not say a thing. Instead, she accepted scraps of fabric, yarn, and handed down T-shirts from her colleagues at the Medical Center, so Marie could complete it.
Making this quilt kept Marie’s child self busy, and cuddling up under it kept her teen-self cozy. Later, she read stories to her son, curled up under this humble creation. And recently, she sat beside her husband at the Memory Care Center, tucked him under this quilt, and read him stories too.
In her 80s, Marie got her own routine going. After supper, she set the dirty dishes aside, shuffled across the well-worn planks of the porch, rocked, and watched neighbors walk by. University of Houston students, Dads, Workers, glowing young ladies and more. She nodded and smiled at each one. Scents of sweet BBQ, fabric softener, and traffic fumes sometimes gently reached the porch. Sounds of teenagers laughing, horns honking, or music blaring sometimes tickled her ears.
Over time, passersby began to pause at her welcoming smile, meander over to her steps, chat a bit, then chat a bit more…
Savannah told Marie how her dear younger brother was persevering in the hospital waiting for skin graft surgery to treat burns from a car accident.
The next day, Marie snipped and stitched, adding a touch of love, turning 2 green squares of the quilt into a little fluffy pillow. Savannah said her brother squeezed that pillow tight to ease the pain.
Jose told Marie how his wife had gotten sick while they escaped Venezuela – dangers and poverty- to forge a better life here in Houston, and how she died in his arms.
The next day, Marie snipped and stitched, adding a touch of love, turning 2 blue squares into a dainty pouch. Jose tucked wildflowers there and hung it beside his beloved’s photograph upon his apartment wall.
Deshaun told Marie how he was proud of his grades. He had pulled all-nighters for I.T. classes and was going to graduate with a decent job soon. He was eager to earn for his 7 year old daughter, born in his teen years, living with the Mom and her family because it was the best life for his little Angel.
The next day, Marie snipped and stitched, adding a touch of love, turning 2 lavender squares into a pretty purse Deshaun’s daughter held during the father-daughter dance the next weekend.
Marie cherished every story she heard unfolding in her community.
Each evening, when the sunset faded, she went inside, turned the porch light on, washed her dishes, praying for victories as she scrubbed.
Each morning, she snipped and stitched, adding a touch of love for passersby: Trey the janitor, London the newlywed, and more.
Marie’s quilt gradually dwindled away, but she did not mind. She felt part of this resilient community. She felt a part of time passing.
All along, Marie knew her own story was entering it’s final chapters, so she was glad to pass along her love. On October 15, the year of her 87th birthday, she stopped appearing on the porch. Marie had to stay inside now because the stage 4 cancer, untreatable, was ready to take her body to rest. And so… she rested.
Marie finally took the pain killers the doctors prescribed, to make her comfortable, (and very sleepy too). She let stories intertwine in her mind while dozing on and off. She was content reminiscing about her Mom, husband, child, and friends, and imagining the future.
I’m not gonna lie, Marie did feel a little chilly without her quilt. Houston may be hot, but fall blows in cool rains with humid air that made her achy bones shiver.
On Halloween, Marie heard a knock at the door. She was not able to give out treats, so she figured it would fade away, but the knock repeated, louder and louder.
Then she heard familiar voices waft in: Jose called out, “Marie, Senora, are you ok?”, Savannah chimed, “Hey Ms. Marie, we gotta give you somethin’!” Deshaun’s daughter, Angel giggled, “Happy Halloween! We have a treat for YOU!”. With each voice, she got her frail frame going, rolling her walker across the floor. “Creak, cra creak. Creak, cra-creak.” Her friends listened and waited patiently.
After Marie finally twisted the deadbolt, Trey eased the door open for her. Marie leaned on her walker; her neighbors emerged before her, all together, on the rickety porch.
A huge wave of warmth filled Marie’s heart. A huge smile spread across her face. She welcomed them inside. Deshaun gave her his arm, then guided her back safely to her bed. London set her new baby boy beside Marie. She smelled baby powder and stroked his head peacefully.
Next, the group handed her a gift bag. Marie gingerly peeked inside, tears forming in the corners of her twinkling eyes as she saw it: It was a homemade quilt of T-shirts!
Angel pulled it out and Trey held it up, displaying it proudly.
The squares were humble. The stitching amateur, the result, just right: Red U of H squares, Blue Venezuelan soccer squares, Grey Army squares, Purple School Logo squares, and more. Along the top stretched lacey silver ribbon from London’s wedding bouquet.
Marie’s friends spread the blanket over her tired frame. They tucked her in, adding a touch of love. They begged her to let them take turns bringing over supper.
Each evening, a friend brought a simple meal, then tucked and spread, spread and tucked. Marie mainly savored listening as they told her about their lives and dreams. She felt so cozy under this precious community quilt.
Marie passed in her sleep early Thanksgiving week, in the little house, touched by love. In the humble ward, full of beautiful stories, still unfolding to this day.
Author notes about the ending: I was told it is a tragic tale, but with joy throughout. It was suggested I add a legacy she left to the ending. You are free to imagine one. Maybe she donated the house to one of the friends and they continued being a listener to the neighbors. Maybe a quilting guild was started in her memory that meant a lot to the neighborhood. But I like the story the way it ends. I like the idea of giving of oneself being something people would notice and reciprocate. I like the idea of dying peacefully being a happy ending to a life on earth. But if you have a legacy ending to add, please email them to me. Maybe this could really just be a first chapter of a story with lots of victories in later chapters...
copyright 2025, by Lynn Jodeit Ouellette
Ah, the memories. Her Mom had worked nights, sometimes nights AND days, to survive and raise their family of two. Marie stroked the quilt on her lap, feeling the squares, softened, just right, over time. This comforted her thighs beneath the blanket, legs now tired from raising her own child, who died from an IED explosion in Afghanistan, after comforting her husband, who died after years of Dementia.
Marie thought back to making this quilt as a clever little girl. One night when she could not sleep, hearing sirens passing in this 3rd ward 2-bedroom house, she started sewing together T-shirts that her Mom was planning to recycle into rags. When her Mom saw the creative endeavor, she did not say a thing. Instead, she accepted scraps of fabric, yarn, and handed down T-shirts from her colleagues at the Medical Center, so Marie could complete it.
Making this quilt kept Marie’s child self busy, and cuddling up under it kept her teen-self cozy. Later, she read stories to her son, curled up under this humble creation. And recently, she sat beside her husband at the Memory Care Center, tucked him under this quilt, and read him stories too.
In her 80s, Marie got her own routine going. After supper, she set the dirty dishes aside, shuffled across the well-worn planks of the porch, rocked, and watched neighbors walk by. University of Houston students, Dads, Workers, glowing young ladies and more. She nodded and smiled at each one. Scents of sweet BBQ, fabric softener, and traffic fumes sometimes gently reached the porch. Sounds of teenagers laughing, horns honking, or music blaring sometimes tickled her ears.
Over time, passersby began to pause at her welcoming smile, meander over to her steps, chat a bit, then chat a bit more…
Savannah told Marie how her dear younger brother was persevering in the hospital waiting for skin graft surgery to treat burns from a car accident.
The next day, Marie snipped and stitched, adding a touch of love, turning 2 green squares of the quilt into a little fluffy pillow. Savannah said her brother squeezed that pillow tight to ease the pain.
Jose told Marie how his wife had gotten sick while they escaped Venezuela – dangers and poverty- to forge a better life here in Houston, and how she died in his arms.
The next day, Marie snipped and stitched, adding a touch of love, turning 2 blue squares into a dainty pouch. Jose tucked wildflowers there and hung it beside his beloved’s photograph upon his apartment wall.
Deshaun told Marie how he was proud of his grades. He had pulled all-nighters for I.T. classes and was going to graduate with a decent job soon. He was eager to earn for his 7 year old daughter, born in his teen years, living with the Mom and her family because it was the best life for his little Angel.
The next day, Marie snipped and stitched, adding a touch of love, turning 2 lavender squares into a pretty purse Deshaun’s daughter held during the father-daughter dance the next weekend.
Marie cherished every story she heard unfolding in her community.
Each evening, when the sunset faded, she went inside, turned the porch light on, washed her dishes, praying for victories as she scrubbed.
Each morning, she snipped and stitched, adding a touch of love for passersby: Trey the janitor, London the newlywed, and more.
Marie’s quilt gradually dwindled away, but she did not mind. She felt part of this resilient community. She felt a part of time passing.
All along, Marie knew her own story was entering it’s final chapters, so she was glad to pass along her love. On October 15, the year of her 87th birthday, she stopped appearing on the porch. Marie had to stay inside now because the stage 4 cancer, untreatable, was ready to take her body to rest. And so… she rested.
Marie finally took the pain killers the doctors prescribed, to make her comfortable, (and very sleepy too). She let stories intertwine in her mind while dozing on and off. She was content reminiscing about her Mom, husband, child, and friends, and imagining the future.
I’m not gonna lie, Marie did feel a little chilly without her quilt. Houston may be hot, but fall blows in cool rains with humid air that made her achy bones shiver.
On Halloween, Marie heard a knock at the door. She was not able to give out treats, so she figured it would fade away, but the knock repeated, louder and louder.
Then she heard familiar voices waft in: Jose called out, “Marie, Senora, are you ok?”, Savannah chimed, “Hey Ms. Marie, we gotta give you somethin’!” Deshaun’s daughter, Angel giggled, “Happy Halloween! We have a treat for YOU!”. With each voice, she got her frail frame going, rolling her walker across the floor. “Creak, cra creak. Creak, cra-creak.” Her friends listened and waited patiently.
After Marie finally twisted the deadbolt, Trey eased the door open for her. Marie leaned on her walker; her neighbors emerged before her, all together, on the rickety porch.
A huge wave of warmth filled Marie’s heart. A huge smile spread across her face. She welcomed them inside. Deshaun gave her his arm, then guided her back safely to her bed. London set her new baby boy beside Marie. She smelled baby powder and stroked his head peacefully.
Next, the group handed her a gift bag. Marie gingerly peeked inside, tears forming in the corners of her twinkling eyes as she saw it: It was a homemade quilt of T-shirts!
Angel pulled it out and Trey held it up, displaying it proudly.
The squares were humble. The stitching amateur, the result, just right: Red U of H squares, Blue Venezuelan soccer squares, Grey Army squares, Purple School Logo squares, and more. Along the top stretched lacey silver ribbon from London’s wedding bouquet.
Marie’s friends spread the blanket over her tired frame. They tucked her in, adding a touch of love. They begged her to let them take turns bringing over supper.
Each evening, a friend brought a simple meal, then tucked and spread, spread and tucked. Marie mainly savored listening as they told her about their lives and dreams. She felt so cozy under this precious community quilt.
Marie passed in her sleep early Thanksgiving week, in the little house, touched by love. In the humble ward, full of beautiful stories, still unfolding to this day.
Author notes about the ending: I was told it is a tragic tale, but with joy throughout. It was suggested I add a legacy she left to the ending. You are free to imagine one. Maybe she donated the house to one of the friends and they continued being a listener to the neighbors. Maybe a quilting guild was started in her memory that meant a lot to the neighborhood. But I like the story the way it ends. I like the idea of giving of oneself being something people would notice and reciprocate. I like the idea of dying peacefully being a happy ending to a life on earth. But if you have a legacy ending to add, please email them to me. Maybe this could really just be a first chapter of a story with lots of victories in later chapters...
copyright 2025, by Lynn Jodeit Ouellette
