“This is the story of your dresses made by me”. I smile as I read these opening words written by Nana in beautiful cursive. “I was excited you were a healthy baby girl!... You were only 6 weeks old on your first Christmas… It had been a long time since I had smocked so I kept it simple…” So began a tradition; for the next thirteen years I could always expect a homemade dress from Nana two or three times a year-one for Easter and one for the fall. When I was younger, she smocked patterns of bright red apples, pastel-colored ice cream cones, dainty flowers, and bold pumpkins, but as I grew up, she gradually switched to simpler and more grown-up patterns. The fabrics Nana picked out came in all different colors. Some were festive; I remember one that was a brilliant yellow speckled with multi-colored stars. Some were plainer; I remember an olive green dress with faded dots. But my favorites were the ones with floral prints- dainty buttercups reflecting an imaginary sun off of their fragile petals- another, a beautiful shade of muted green imprinted with blue and purple violets. And this is just a sampling of all the prints Nana uncovered. I can imagine Nana at the fabric store, carefully sifting through the many options, looking for just the right color for the occasion. Nana loved trying new patterns and color schemes. She told me that one of her favorites, a bright red dress with colorful twirls, was fun to make because it was something different. Every dress was unique and beautiful and every single one is carefully tucked away in my closet, waiting to be shared with my daughters in the future. Every pattern and fabric holds a story- fond memories of my childhood. I wore Nana's dresses to church, and would let all the little old ladies admire my Nana's artwork as I twirled cheerfully, letting the dress billow out around me. I liked to pretend I was a princess or a girl out of a story as I curtseyed and danced around. We have a picture from Easter every year of the boys in well-ironed suits and me in a dress that captured the essence of springtime. I went to piano recitals wearing Nana's dresses-there's a picture of me wearing a plum-colored dress with tiny, delicate, lavender flowers painting the background. Memories of these dresses are scattered all throughout my childhood. After the last dress Nana smocked for me, I didn't expect Nana to sew me anything after that. However, she had a surprise for my 17th birthday. I unwrapped my gift, my family circling around me to get a closer look. They all knew what I was getting, but I had no idea. Distantly, I heard Papa say “you don't know how long it took Nana to make this for you… a lifetime”. Slowly, folds of fabric fell into my lap. “What is it?” my family asked. That's exactly what I was thinking. I knew that it was a quilt, but some of the fabrics looked strangely familiar. As I sat in shocked silence, I heard a voice (I don't know if it was my mom or Nana) say “It's your dresses”. And realization struck me. Nana had been collecting pieces of fabric from the dresses she made me for the past 17 years. That's what Papa meant when he said this quilt took Nana a lifetime to make… my lifetime. I think that's the only time I've cried when given a gift. I wonder what Nana was thinking the day she sat at her sewing machine to smock that first dress. Was she thinking about how cute I'd look in it? Was she thinking about how much my mom would appreciate seeing her baby in a handmade dress? Was she wanting to tell me how much she loves me? And what was Nana thinking when she set pieces of that first dress aside? Did she know that I wouldn't stay a baby forever? Did she know that even though I was too little to appreciate the love and care that went into her artwork, someday I would treasure every one of the fabrics? Did she know that she was stitching my childhood together by giving me landmarks to remember every season by? Even though at the time I was just a baby, Nana understood that I wouldn't always be a little girl; someday I would grow into a young woman and she wanted me to have something as a reminder of her love.