Quilters for Life

I just watched a wonderful documentary about men in a maximum-security prison—lifers—who were in a special program where they made quilts for foster children (The Quilters, Netflix, 2024). 

Watching these men—many of them lost children themselves—connect with today’s discarded children brought tears to my eyes and helped me feel less alone during my own time of captivity: recovering from toe surgery, unable to bear weight for 42 days.

As these tender-hearted men—who made mistakes—give back in a meaningful way they deserve, designing quilts and laboring over every stitch, I am reminded of those lost souls who may never have the chance to reclaim themselves or give back in the way they, too, deserve.

These are the victims of trauma—many of whom don’t even know they were traumatized. They may have felt different, but they learned to be quiet. The silence became their cloak of safety—but it sentenced them to a lifetime of invisibility. 

Like these men, I sometimes think of myself as a quilter. I don’t make the soulful quilts that they labor over to help a child feel seen and not forgotten—a list that seems never-ending.

I don’t toil over every missed stitch like these men, or my loving wife, who makes quilts for all the children in our family—and for many more she’s adopted in her heart, and who, along the way, have adopted her in theirs.

I don’t have the patience or creativity of the woman I mentioned in Finding My Blankie. I now remember that she made me a quilt—to express her care for me and her gratitude for my presence in her life.

As I lie here, I imagine her smiling through tears when she sees the blankie she made for me all those years ago. At its center is an Ohio Star—stitched with care, like the steady light she offered to so many, but was only seen by a few—grateful that I was one of them.

I’m writing now with her quilt keeping me warm in body and spirit—and I realize: I am a quilter, too, in my own way.

With each of my posts, I feel as though I'm helping someone reconnect to the lost parts of themselves, or to others who still live in their hearts.

And with each recognition of the light others receive from me, regardless of whether I ever see their faces or hear their words, there is healing within me—a redemption of body and soul that I quietly offer to the world.

When you have a moment, let yourself feel the light. It’s still there—gentle, steady, stitched into you like an Ohio Star at the center of a well-worn quilt. It’s non-weight bearing for a lifetime, not just for 42 days.

Leonard Cohen said it. Rumi, too. The wound, the crack—they let in the light. We just help stitch it into place.

It’s everything. We’re quilters for life.

Comments or questions? Email me at mcecilvt@aol.com. Feel free to share these words—and this blog—with anyone you hold, or long to be held by, in the light of invisibility.

Dr. Cecil is a licensed psychologist, certified AEDP supervisor, approved EMDR consultant, and senior CSRT consultant. He specializes in treating complex relational, developmental, and transgenerational trauma, bringing therapy to life through heartfelt stories and images of connection and healing that emerge from the light of invisibility.