"Marie", eighty-eight, suffered from bone marrow cancer. From the minute I met her, I saw a very independent woman. She had lived alone for years and liked it that way. Marie was widowed and had three adult children. All of her children lived nearby and were wanting to help, but Marie would tell them that she was doing fine.
In the end, her daughter, "Trish", moved in to care for her. Marie resigned herself to having her daughter around all of the time as I think deep down she knew she needed the help. During this time, Marie was focused on a blanket that she was crocheting for her grandson, Trish's son. She was so pleased at how it was turning out.
In the recent weeks, Marie was becoming weaker and it was apparent that she likely would not finish the blanket. Marie was so determined, that every day she willed herself to sit on the couch and crochet a row or two.
Marie fell four days ago and fractured her shoulder. Returning home from the Emergency Department, she went straight to bed. It was then, that she stopped eating, drinking or talking and started into her dying process.
I went out to do a visit this morning and it was apparent that Marie was close to death. Trish and I went out and sat on the couch. Trish started to talk about her mother while she picked up the blanket and started to crochet. Tears flowed as she shared stories about her mother. Marie died four hours later. Trish plans on finishing the blanket to present it to her son.
This story brought up a beautiful memory of my own blanket. I was one of nineteen grandchildren. My grandmother knitted and was working on knitting an afghan for each of her grandchildren. When I was eighteen, she was working on my afghan when she suddenly passed away. My aunt then picked up the afghan and finished it for me. Today it is still one of my most cherished possessions.
A BLANKET
She was crocheting him a blanket.
She hoped to be able to finish it soon.
She felt time had become her enemy
as she became weaker with each passing day.
She was stubborn and independent.
She had always stood her ground.
Even when she could hardly sit up,
she would crochet him one more row.
She picked yarn she knew he would like.
She stitched each row with love.
Now it sits idle on her living room couch
unfinished and waiting to be done.
Her daughter gently picked up the blanket.
She knew it needed a few more rows.
Tears flowed as she started to crochet.
Each stitch a reminder of what she has lost.
When she is done, she'll present it to him.
A treasured gift linking three generations.
The blanket has become all the more precious
as it was now stitched by two women that love him.
Two women that, he too, has always loved.
In the end, her daughter, "Trish", moved in to care for her. Marie resigned herself to having her daughter around all of the time as I think deep down she knew she needed the help. During this time, Marie was focused on a blanket that she was crocheting for her grandson, Trish's son. She was so pleased at how it was turning out.
In the recent weeks, Marie was becoming weaker and it was apparent that she likely would not finish the blanket. Marie was so determined, that every day she willed herself to sit on the couch and crochet a row or two.
Marie fell four days ago and fractured her shoulder. Returning home from the Emergency Department, she went straight to bed. It was then, that she stopped eating, drinking or talking and started into her dying process.
I went out to do a visit this morning and it was apparent that Marie was close to death. Trish and I went out and sat on the couch. Trish started to talk about her mother while she picked up the blanket and started to crochet. Tears flowed as she shared stories about her mother. Marie died four hours later. Trish plans on finishing the blanket to present it to her son.
This story brought up a beautiful memory of my own blanket. I was one of nineteen grandchildren. My grandmother knitted and was working on knitting an afghan for each of her grandchildren. When I was eighteen, she was working on my afghan when she suddenly passed away. My aunt then picked up the afghan and finished it for me. Today it is still one of my most cherished possessions.
A BLANKET
She was crocheting him a blanket.
She hoped to be able to finish it soon.
She felt time had become her enemy
as she became weaker with each passing day.
She was stubborn and independent.
She had always stood her ground.
Even when she could hardly sit up,
she would crochet him one more row.
She picked yarn she knew he would like.
She stitched each row with love.
Now it sits idle on her living room couch
unfinished and waiting to be done.
Her daughter gently picked up the blanket.
She knew it needed a few more rows.
Tears flowed as she started to crochet.
Each stitch a reminder of what she has lost.
When she is done, she'll present it to him.
A treasured gift linking three generations.
The blanket has become all the more precious
as it was now stitched by two women that love him.
Two women that, he too, has always loved.
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