One of my favorite afghans is a red, blue and black Granny Square twin-size spread I’ve had since I was in high school. It was the bedspread in my college dorm room back in the 1970s.

The blanket was a gift from my boyfriend’s mother, Pat Fresina. She loved to crochet, and she made sure I had a blanket to take with me to school.

For over 50 years, she made sure quite a few people had what they needed in life from blankets to meals to a shoulder to cry on.

After a long and tiring battle with congenital heart failure and other ailments, Pat passed away peacefully last week.

But, oh, what a legacy she left.

Her house was a great place to visit. The small brick house on Nimitz Street always had somebody hanging out, usually in the back room that had my favorite thing in the house, a working Wurlitzer jukebox.

The kitchen counters were covered with stacks of books, magazines and other household items that nobody worried about, especially Pat.

She’d much rather play games like Jeopardy and Family Feud with her kids and their friends. Hours were spent in that orange and brown kitchen playing Spoon or Spades, and the games were always loud and lively.

She was a mom of three daughters and one son, and she also held down a full-time job as a teacher.

Pat was a legend in the science departments where she taught. She taught most of my friends as well as my younger brother, Joey. She made science fun because she made the lessons lively and engaging.

Her son, Chuck, told me they never knew what they’d find growing in the refrigerator because his mom was always trying out new experiments and testing theories.

Sundays were my favorite time to visit the Fresina household because it was spaghetti day.

Pat would start cooking the gravy early in the morning, and we’d all sit down in the evening for a bowl of pasta covered with a rich red spaghetti gravy and a boiled egg. Sounds pecuilar, but a boiled egg chopped up in pasta and sauce is delicious, she taught me.

When Pat wasn’t crocheting, conjuring up science plans or playing games, she was reading Harlequin Romance books. She had them stacked up on the table next to the couch, but would always put them away to talk with somebody.

One afternoon, my best friend, Trudi, and I stopped by the Fresina household on our way to work. Pat was showing us her latest crocheting project when her son came in and started yelling about where his sister had parked the car.

Sister started yelling back and then their dad, Dominick, got into the shouting match. Trudi was looking back and forth between the yellers, but Pat didn’t even seem to notice. She kept talking about the blanket she was making.

Trudi said she’d wait in the car, and Pat blinked and asked if anything was wrong. I told her it had gotten a little loud in there.

“Oh I never noticed,” she said with a smile and a twinkle in her eye.

For her, life was loud and noisy and messy and wonderful.

She dressed up in silly hats and outfits, was game for any outing or adventure and never had a mean word to say about anyone. She was a tremendous mother, mother-in-law, Nanny and great-grandmother.

A science teacher to the end, she stated in her will that after her death, she wanted her body to be donated to science to help students learn.

I’m going to sleep underneath that afghan tonight and think happy thoughts about a woman who lived life to the fullest.

Thank you for allowing me into your heart, Pat. You’ll always be in mine.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.