Fritzi made the little yarn-tied comforter for her visiting grandchildren sleeping in a playpen or napping on a mat. A couple decades passed and the blanket became an extra layer of warmth for my frail, fading father in a series of nursing homes. The room numbers were crossed out, overridden, overlapped, and generally ignored by laundry staff.
Most of Howard's final possessions went straight to Goodwill. For some reason the little blue comforter survived to become an emergency car trunk picnic blanket, then a floor refinishing project knee pad.
Last night the blanket comforted the mistflower, hanging over a clothesline to make a tiny tent.
I don't believe The Velveteen Rabbit is a story for young children, but neither is Peter Pan. Tonight I do believe the small blanket sewn by my mother became a well-loved real true comfort.
© 2013 Nancy L. Ruder