The joy of a blankie

When I write an article, I usually wind up identifying with it in someway. When I discovered that the Kingston Quilt Shop was giving quilts to a funeral home for children to be buried with, I didn’t immediately think there was anyway for it to affect me. It took a few days and a moment of looking at the Project Linus Web site before I started thinking of my own blankie, Green Blankie.

When I write an article, I usually wind up identifying with it in someway. When I discovered that the Kingston Quilt Shop was giving quilts to a funeral home for children to be buried with, I didn’t immediately think there was anyway for it to affect me.

It took a few days and a moment of looking at the Project Linus Web site before I started thinking of my own blankie, Green Blankie.

Project Linus exists to provide blankets to children who may not have one. Whether they are terminally ill or entering the foster care system, groups are trying to get them blankies. My first thought about this was “Good, every child should have a nice, soft blanket.”

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I still have my multicolored quilt. Reading about children who don’t have a special blanket or stuffed animal saddened me. I remembered how my blankie got me through all the rough moments in my childhood. I spent considerable time in and out of hospitals, and while my parents and sister were fantastic, and I had my share of great nurses and doctors, I don’t know what I would have done without my special Green Blankie.

It was there when no one else was. It was there when I went to sleep, and there when I woke up. It was there through all the tests, poking, prodding, tears and hugs. Nothing ever wavered about my blankie. The only thing that changed was it became more worn and loved. It gave me something unchanging, unwavering to hold on to.

I began to see how important it was for every child to have something soft to count on when nothing else seems stable.

I also wonder why adults seem so keen on not having blankets or bears. I still have my blankie, folded up next to my pillow, I’m not embarrassed to admit it. I acknowledge it proudly. Other people I’ve spoken with say they still have their special soft thing. I remember when my dad told me that I was too old for a blankie and I should give mine up.

My reaction is still, “Why on earth would I do such a thing?”

In this world, where so many things are difficult, and our lives can hold so much stress, why shouldn’t we add a little softness to it? Even if it is in the form of a teddy bear or Green Blankie.

You can never be too old for a blankie.

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