These two quilted cardinals are more than fabric and thread—they are stitched memories. Created by my sister, they honor our mother, who passed away in 2016. Cardinals were her constant companions in the Alabama countryside, though not always in the way she preferred. They perched on her car mirrors, determined to nest where they didn’t belong, sparking a daily battle of wits. Yet she also filled her feeders faithfully, as if she couldn’t resist their bright persistence.

In these squares, the cardinals become symbols of that paradox: the nuisance she laughed about, and the beauty she secretly cherished. Framed and hung in my bedroom, they are a daily reminder of her humor, her contradictions, and her enduring presence in our lives.

What makes them even more special is that they were made by my sister, with her own hands, across the miles that separate us—she in Georgia, me in Washington. Though distance keeps us apart, her stitches carry love that bridges the gap, reminding me that she is always close at heart.