Salvaging a Piece of Special

Our son Jacob is the sentimental type. He’s had a blanket — the same blanket — since his birth in 1999. He has slept with it most every night. It’s been his covering, and, in some ways, a companion. I get this. I’m the same way, after all.

So when pieces of Jake’s blanket began to show up in odd places (inside Bill’s t-shirts, for example) and there was less and less of it each time it went through a wash / dry cycle, I knew the end was near. I warned him of this, too — saying, “Jake, pretty soon we’re going to have to find you a new blanket. You must face the facts.” He suggested I mend each hole and re-quilt it (Is that even possible?), rather than consider that it was time to go shopping.

But this week, Jacob and Ian have been gone on a youth hiking trip. So I decided to take advantage of the situation and clean Jake’s room. (I call it “Operation Clean Sweep”! It happens about once a year.) Part of this duty was to strip and wash his bedding, including… yep, you guessed it!

Well, after the timer buzzed indicating the wash was finished, I transferred everything to the dryer. Everything, that is, except for the thread-barren blanket. I took one look at it — wet, limp, and lifeless — and decided instead to hang it on the line. (It seemed cruel to toss it into the dryer. And I’ve been getting tired of peeling pieces of it from my undergarments.) Hanging it seemed more decent… more respectful. Kinder.

Honestly, it looked battle-worn, for certain. I knew I had no choice. And since Jacob’s been without it all week (It didn’t fit in his backpack!), I thought this might be the most humane thing to do for him, as well. I love him, after all.

So, with scissors in hand, I examined its remains. Finding a section that was somewhat intact, I began to cut. I needed a good-sized square at the very least. Instead, I settled for a small-ish rectangle. But it would have to do.

At the sewing machine, I folded Jake’s dear friend — right sides together and began to stitch. Just a basic straight stitch. Before finishing the last side, however, I stopped and turned the blanket soon-to-be-decorative-throw pillow right side out. Then I stuffed it full with polyester fiberfill. (I kept thinking, “Oh, I hope Jacob feels the love stuffed into this!) Satisfied, I finished by closing it up — hand-stitching the small opening. Done!

Jacob will be home tomorrow. He will probably notice his room is cleaner. He will most likely notice there are fewer “keepsakes” upon his shelves. He’ll be okay with that, I suspect. But I don’t think he’ll be immediately accepting of the fact that his blanket is not strewn out upon his bed. The pillow, though made with love, will not be greatly appreciated right way. Some things take time.

But I do believe that, after we’ve laid his blanket to rest and we’re sitting together and remembering, Jacob will come to terms with this and maybe, just maybe, even see some poignant, hidden beauty there.  Perhaps he’ll recognize that this is just the end of a chapter in his life… that it’s not “The End.”

And he’ll wake up the next morning (and many mornings after) to the start of a brand new day — a salvaged piece of “special” beneath his head.