Sunshine for Richard
At the beginning of November, my dear friend lost her son. He loved trying new things and pushing himself—though few would imagine social media as the challenge that would take him. I was told he attempted a TikTok challenge, and it tragically went wrong. The medical staff and EMTs did everything they could to save Richard, but despite their efforts, he did not survive.
I knew Richard the least out of her three children. I taught math to her oldest and had her middle child in my advisory (kinda like homeroom) class. I’ve since stopped teaching, but had taken on the mantle of substitute teacher to aide my former colleagues.
At his funeral, I learned so much about Richard that I hadn’t known before. He loved playing video games and the clarinet. His favorite movie was Titanic—so much so that he built a scale replica of the ship in Minecraft. His favorite hymn was “Nearer, My God, to Thee,” the final song said to have been played as the ship sank.
He had a wonderfully dry sense of humor. He once told his grandmother that his pants sat above his ankles because they were his “elevator pants”—and that her elevator just didn’t work anymore.
I also learned that his bedroom walls were painted sunshine yellow, which is why I chose that color for this quilt.
After the funeral, I felt led to make her a quilt in only yellow and white. I couldn’t imagine a more meaningful gift for her first Christmas without him. All of my other projects were set aside.
I pulled from my scraps and fabric stash and ordered a jelly roll of yellows. Wanting to highlight stars as a tribute to the sun, I designed three different 12” blocks with complementary sawtooth stars, along with solid blocks, 4” finished pinwheels, and 8” quarter-square triangles. Once the layout was finalized, I divided it into smaller sections to piece together. It was a bit tricky—but I managed to keep it to just one Y-seam!
After assembling the sections, I added what feels like the most special detail. During the eulogy, I learned about the phrases his family lovingly called “Richard-isms.” I asked my friend to share some of them with me. I typed the quotes and a few of his favorite things onto water-soluble embroidery paper and stitched them into the quilt—along with images of a Minecraft sword, a clarinet, the Titanic, and even his preferred name at age five: “Monster Man.”
On the back, I added a memorial for Richard. It felt only right.
I basted, machine-quilted, and bound it right up to the deadline, finishing and washing it just in time to give it to its rightful owner. I delivered it to my friend on December 26th, the day after Christmas. I didn’t quite meet my deadline, but that’s okay. Tears were shed—it was a tender and sweet moment for both of us.
I added a tag that reads, “Made With Joy,” and I can’t think of a more fitting phrase for this project. It means so much to me that I was able to give her a small, tangible piece of her son back to her.
And the best part—whenever the weight of grief feels too heavy, she can wrap herself in this quilt. I hope it feels like a warm hug from him, reminding her that love never leaves.