I don't feel as if I can title this post today. I feel that it's best to leave it untitled. After a long battle with cancer, my boyfriend's aunt (Mom J's sister), passed away this morning. It's been a long and hard four months since Aunt G was diagnosed in August. She was well-loved, and there were many family members and friends keeping vigil at her bedside. She was a beautiful and brave woman, and she will be missed very much. Her grandson was born yesterday morning, and she was able to hear the news and lifted her hands in joy.
I had my sock knitting in my coat pocket, and I knitted in the waiting room, I knitted in the hospital room, I knitted in the cafeteria, I knitted in the half-dark, standing among the many friends and relatives who came to see Aunt G and tell her that they love her. I noticed a bag with yarn in the room; it belonged to Aunt G's other sister, Aunt P, who said that she didn't know what she was going to crochet with the yarn, only that she needed to have it with her. Knitting or crocheting does help. It soothes; it calms. It gives you something to do when you don't know what else to do. I only wish I was knitting something that I could have given to somebody there who might have taken comfort in knowing that this knitted item was knitted with love and surrounded by Aunt G and all the love in the hospital room.
Knitted objects have a tendency to serve as memory books, and one look, one feel, can shore up every minute of your life that was spent knitting those objects. Next time, instead of merely taking my knitting with me, I will choose my knitting carefully.
I am going on a yarn-diet for the next six months. The money that I would have spent on yarn will instead be donated in Aunt G's memory to the American Cancer Society.
the Lone Knitter