Tattered Comfort

The other day I was in the pantry looking for something to eat :). Helena comes in and asks me to sew her blanket. She had her little finger poked through a hole. It has a trillion holes in it and the edges are very frayed. I told her I couldn't sew the holes. She said that was ok - just the edges - she liked the holes. I said I would see what I could do (no - I haven't sewed it yet).

I couldn't get that yellow blanket out of my mind. I know just about every one of my nieces and nephews, as well as my own three, have had some kind of blankie, snugly, lovey, bear, or any other sacred comfort item that they couldn't part with. You don't know how many times we have had to go back to the store to find Rease's bear because she dropped it - it was a serious mission looking for that thing, praying all the while some other little tyke hadn't discovered it and claimed it as their own - or worse yet - it had been thrown away! Or watch Matt, my oldest nephew, stand at the close line (or at the dryer) until his silky blanket was dry . He wore every bit of silk binding off my sister's regular bed blankets, as well! !

Well, back to the yellow blanket. I was thinking (hmmm. . . .) that tattered blanket is much like my memories. I have "holes", if you will, in some of my memories. Like that blanket, well used and time worn, but the bulk of the important stuff is still there. Held in tact by the "binding" of my soul. As long as that binding is there, the solid part of the blanket will be there, too. The feelings those tattered memories bring is like a favorite blanket, warm and comforting. I figure, the holes must not be so important, or they wouldn't be there, or maybe I've just let go of the bad memories, and that is where they were - I like those holes!

At any rate, I wouldn't trade my "tattered blankie" and the comfort it brings, for anything.