Did you ever experience something so unbelievable that you couldn't believe it really happened? Today I experienced something that belonged in a novel or movie but not REAL life. It pains me to write about it, but I am in need of some kind of catharsis, so here it goes...
My father's very good friend made a special quilt for him. Technically it was a quilt, but more accurately a wonderful piece of art containing fabric, embroidery, beads, ornamental pins, etc. The design was an original, collaborated on by her and my father. It involved circular and linear shapes and beautiful dragonflies. This was not something you would ever put on a bed, but something you must hang on a wall in a prominent place to marvel at.
Anyway, in order to hang it, my father asked me to make a rod pocket for it. Having adequate sewing skill, I was happy to do it. So he left it here with me. First Mistake.
I already had a project underway-- a bridesmaid's dress for my daughter-- so I kept the quilt folded up and sitting next to my desk on a stool. Second Mistake.
This afternoon, I thought I'd better get started on the rod pocket, but when I looked for the quilt it was gone. With four kids and a husband in the house I was not at first alarmed but questioned everyone as to the quilt's whereabouts. You know the line, "I won't be angry with you, just tell me where you put it." No one seemed to know where it was. I looked EVERYWHERE. Thinking someone put it away with our blankets, I ransacked linen closets, checked beds, doll cribs, anywhere it could have been misplaced... nothing.
Then a horrible thought occurred to me. I went to my 14 year-old son and asked, "Honey, when you emptied all the trash cans this morning, did you do the one beside my desk?... You did? Well, did you see a big folded up blanket looking thing?"
He answered, "You mean that old carpet? Yeah, I think I threw it away."
I stammered, "B-B-But was it IN the trash can?!"
"Well, the trash can was tipped over, and the carpet was laying on top, so I thought you wanted to throw it away."
"My darling boy, what day of the week is it?"
"It's Thursday-- trash pick-up day."
I felt the blood retreat from my brain as I whispered OMG.
My son and I ran to the curb. The cans were empty. The quilt was on the way to the dump. The beautiful- one-of-a-kind- irreplaceable -work -of- art- quilt that meant a lot to my father.
I cried inconsolably for an hour.
I forgave my son.
My father forgave us both.