One of the great family heirlooms in our clan is a crocheted bedspread made by my husband’s grandmother. It was on the bed in his mother’s guest room for several years, but I don’t even know who has possession of it anymore. Nor does that matter very much to me. I simply love the story.

Many long years ago, when Grandma-Great was a small girl named Cora, she learned to crochet. After making a few doilies, I suppose, she decided to take on a larger project. Maybe a bedspread. And so she set to work. I have no idea how many weeks or months or even years it must have taken to spin the thread into the delicate swirls and curls that eventually created the masterpiece. It was a marvel. Especially when you consider it was crocheted by such a novice.

I do know that years and years and years passed before little Cora became a wife and mother and learned the rest of the story. Her own mother knew Cora had taken on a project much too large for her skill set. She also knew the effort itself would be good practice. By the time Cora finished the spread, she would probably have become pretty good with her needle, and the last half of it would be perfect.

But, the first half would be a disaster. Cora’s mother considered what a blow that lopsided bedspread would be. Then she made a decision. Every night, after Cora fell asleep, her mother sat down and unraveled the day’s work. Then she crocheted every stitch back into its right place. As the days went by, she unraveled less and less. Eventually, she only corrected small errors. And, in the end, Cora finished the spread on her own.

Today, our family has a beautiful crocheted spread somewhere. But more importantly, we have a heritage. We have a long line of mothers who know when to stand back, when to step forward, and when to to replace stitches in the night so dreams don’t come out lopsided.

Happy Mother’s Day to us all.