square comes from a shirt bought in
a well-known cycling shop in Moab,
Utah, a mountain biker’s dream des-
tination. Rob and our sons made that
trip together less than a month before
he received his devastating diagnosis.
The other side evokes a life lived
through swatches of those everyday
shirts (plus his bathing suit) that all
who knew and loved Rob would rec-
ognize at 10 paces. The workmanship
is exquisite.When we retired to Kingston six
years ago, we renovated one of the
remaining buildings of the old Ports-
mouth Brewery. We worked with a
local contractor and it took a lot of
vision, collaboration, risk-taking and
hard work. It is an unusual home. In
our entry area, a canoe that Rob built
hangs over the front door, and the bikes
that we rode together are suspended
from the wall—sculpturally appealing
but mostly for easy access. On another
wall once hung Rob’s sailboarding
equipment; that has now gone, and the
quilt has taken up the void. It hangs
right by the staircase I walk up anddown every day. I often stop and reflect
on the ordinary and extraordinary man
who was my husband.
The quilt has helped me absorb the
fullness of his time on Earth; seeing
that, for most of us, the lives we live
are a complex mix of accomplish-
ments—some stellar, some simple—
and the daily relationships, habits and
actions that form us. Hardly profound,
but comforting.
At a recent family gathering we
placed the three babies on Rob’s quilt
and began to tell them about their
grandfather and the things he liked to
do. This will become one of our new
traditions. Rob missed meeting his
grandchildren by only a few months,
but he will become a person they know
through the stories—both ordinary and
extraordinary—that we will tell them.
Memories we carry in our hearts are
most precious but, for me, having
something close at hand to touch and
recall, and to share with others, has
already proven to be a salve for an ach-
ing heart. The warm response of family
and friends to this work of love has
moved me. The quilt is a gift that con-
tinues to give each day and for that I
am grateful. Creativity and beauty do
not always come from a happy place.
In bewilderment and sorrow and loss,
some will see patterns that can begin
to bring order to the emotional chaos
that is a natural part of grieving.
© 2019, MARY JANE PHILP. “A QUILT KEEPS MY HUSBAND’S MEMORY ALIVE,” FROM THE GLOBE AND MAIL (DECEMBER
2, 2019). THEGLOBEANDMAIL.COMWE PLACED THE
THREE BABIES ON
THE QUILT AND TOLD
THEM ABOUT THEIR
GRANDFATHER.reader’s digest
48 may 2020