When I was around 10 years old, I sewed my first quilt. Each Christmas, my grandma would give my sisters and me a day to do whatever we wanted with just her. That year she had also given me my first sewing kit —a pink case filled with thread, needles and a little pair of scissors. 

I wanted to use my sewing kit for my special day with her, so my grandma chose a simple doll quilt pattern for my project. She taught me how to cut the fabric straight, pin the pieces together and tie it off with little pieces of yarn. I was so proud of my little quilt made of blue, yellow and dainty floral strips of fabric. I took it home and tucked it in my American Girl Doll Felicity’s cradle. 

I now have a little collection of quilts. One framed in cornflower blue and filled with colorful blocks that my grandma made for my 16th birthday is tucked away in my closet. A flower-patterned quilt that my great-grandma made is on my bed at school. Another light blue one stitched with pink hearts that was gifted to my grandparents as an anniversary gift one year lies on my bed at home. 

All of these quilts are different. They hold patches of fabric from old dresses or curtains. Even the tiniest stitch is important. They hold memories and nostalgia. They are all beautiful in their unique regard. 

I was recently talking to Taylor about change. I was mourning because it has been hard to let go of friendships or see them change due to different circumstances. Change is inevitable all throughout life, and that has always been hard for me. 

One of my grandmas can hardly remember my name. The other one calls to pray with me and sends bowls of frozen chili back to school after I visit home. Both of them have taught me what it means to love deeply and give freely. Their impact is laced into the stitches of the quilt that make up my life. 

One of my best friends got married two months ago, and another one is getting married in five days. I feel as though I’m about to live my “27 Dresses” life, and I’m wondering if I’m being left behind. I see my third grade students more than my peers, but I’m learning that the people who are meant to stay will still show up even when there is distance and when I have nothing left to give. 

I’ve realized, though, that no relationship is meaningless. It is okay if they just last for a season, or if they last for a lifetime. Pieces of different people are always going to be woven into my life. Our lives are not just our own. They are like a quilt — filled with little pieces and stitches of the people and things that make me who I am today. Some people are a big piece of my quilt, and others are just a little patch. They’re all important and make the whole quilt a masterpiece. 

While my quilt is being made, I’m also contributing to the quilts of other people. Little pieces of my heart are given away. Sometimes it hurts. But sometimes it is the most beautiful thing in the world. I think that the risk of loving and investing is worth it because you never know what the impact will be. Perhaps a sweet little stitch will be added.

I don’t know what my future holds. People are coming and going. Change is occurring so quickly that I feel like I can’t keep up. But my quilt is still being made. Each stitch matters. Each patch makes an impact. I get to love so many more people, and so many more people will love me. Letting go is never easy, but giving pieces of yourself is lovely. No piece gained or given is a waste.