Q uarantine has drained my energy. Here I am sitting in a place surrounded by many chopped-up days. The endless time at home has forced my life to slow down, and I am determined to get things organized.
The sun finally came out, and I picked up a cabinet filled with fabric and incomplete sewing projects. I had forgotten most of them, including the twelve-inch quilt blocks I made for my daughter.
As I checked the seams, the cotton felt soft, and I looked to see if they were lined up in a straight row. It had been several years since I worked on a quilt. Fortunately, there were enough squares for a full-size bedspread.
Why did she choose this particular pattern? I went to the quilting book to look up the name. The page was marked with a sticky note: Variable Star. Perfect.
The fact is, my daughter's life is far from stable. Sometimes it is complete turmoil. She was adopted from Mexico at the age of seven, and her identity began with a scream in Spanish, refusing to learn English. A few months later, she lost her mother tongue and spoke almost entirely in English. I didn't fully appreciate another trauma. We tried multiple times to restart Spanish lessons, but our efforts fell flat. It wasn't until college that her mother tongue was fully reclaimed, mastering the difficult experience of studying abroad. We are proud of her.
Now, in her twenties, she has moved out a year ago and hasn't seen many issues. Communication is strained, only when we have to. Our rules suffocated her, and she is determined to find her own way. She hasn't gone far. She didn't blaze a new trail but moved in with her boyfriend.
Unfortunately, the space between us has grown larger.
Variable Star
A perfect description of my life and lessons. Variable: inconsistent or having a fixed pattern; capable of change; able to be altered or adapted. Yes - no joke.
I have tried to reach out many times. Texts were ignored. Once, we met for dinner and ended up pointing fingers at each other over tacos.
Then, tragedy struck. Her boyfriend passed away suddenly. She moved for a short time, wanting to sit alone in her old room wearing a sweatshirt. I coaxed her to find friends and "talk to someone about her grief." She agreed.
Eventually, we helped her settle into her new apartment.
The holidays were forced and unpleasant. The fog lifted into the new year, and slowly we began to reconnect. She still reigns as the queen of one-word responses. But then, as our worlds began to hang on a fragile thread, I wanted to do more.
I pulled out the sewing items and started fixing all the blocks. When my hands were busy, my mind focused on mending this relationship. We maintained social distance in most cases. During one visit, when she saw the quilt pieces put together, she smiled. "I remember choosing the fabric."
While my life can be perfectly described by straight lines and squares, my daughter's daily life is more like a crazy quilt. Her way of thinking has no lines or predictable patterns. Her plans are always changing, and she still struggles to be honest about her performance.
The quilt is beautiful, with a dark border featuring leaf patterns and black thread. My phone buzzed, telling me Variable Star was on her bed. We haven't texted or interacted on social media recently. But now she loves many emoji hearts on the quilt; can I help her find pillows? Baby steps.
In a year that seemed the same every day, I learned a valuable life lesson. Look for small changes. The seemingly insignificant things can have a huge impact on our lives. Embrace change. Adapt... not because you have to... but because you want to. "Variable" is the only way to live.
Anna Maria Didio is a writer and children's author, and her memoirs and adoption-themed books can be found on her Amazon author page.