“More Pieces of Us”: A Quilt, Mental Illness, and Things Passed Down
A quilt made by my great-grandmother became a life preserver when I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.
When I decided my mission was complete, I crossed the street and went back inside my house.
I kept the quilt near me for the next several months. Even after my mind healed and the paranoia and hallucinations subsided, I continued to keep it out in the open, out of the wooden chest. It’s a life preserver in my illness. It’s an anchor in my wellness.
The quilt was made in the 1950s by my great-grandmother, Granny Boyd. She passed it on to her daughter-in-law, my Grandma Boyd. She had it for several years before passing it on to my mom when I was a teenager. I remember it hanging on a wall in my parents’ guest room when I was in college. I asked my mom to give it to me for Christmas several years ago. One day, I’ll give it to my daughter.
I can see a younger version of me sorting the pieces by color—all of the reds in one pile, all of the greens in one pile, all of the yellows in one pile. If I think about this enough, I might be able to create a memory of something that never happened.
American Quilts: The Democratic Art, 1780-2007,
The pieces of my life and the pieces of the lives of others in my family who have used and will use this quilt are all woven together in a similar fashion. There are common threads throughout our stories that knit us close to each other and point to a larger, more beautiful narrative. That narrative holds more than my illness. It holds more than any illness Granny Boyd might have had or the current and future illnesses my children have or might have. This larger, more beautiful narrative holds the scraps of our lives that have been stitched together to make us who we are, who we will become.
More in this series
I know by worrying about a room of mostly white readers I undermine myself, but it’s become instinct. And, honestly, I just get tired.