Quilts mean comfort. When we were very young, still in our crib, we would touch the edge of our satin quilt to comfort ourselves. We learned how to dissociate into fabric, going between the threads.
Now we have a comfort quilt, so well-loved that it is threadbare on the edges. We call it the "Bugs in Space" quilt because we made it of fabrics with brightly colored bugs, clouds, and planets. When our son was eight years old he chose the fabrics and gave them to us as a present.
Lately we've been comforting ourselves with quilts. On the sofa we snuggle under the Bugs in Space quilt. Back on our bed, we've been sleeping under our little's quilt, the one made with bright-colored elephant, flower, and banana fabrics.
And the past couple of weeks, we've spent hundreds of hours shopping for quilts online. I know we're shopping for comfort. But there are some kinds of comfort we can't buy. Our littles wish for something that they will never have: a quilt made by someone (outside of their body) who loves them. And so they look at quilts online and pretend.
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