Every fall, I catch the bug, but this winter I really caught the bug. If I am sitting, I am crocheting. I have made 20 or so hats. I have made several scarfs. I have made an afghan as a gift for a baby (leaving it at that since it is for Christmas). I have made Jimmie an afghan. I am working on one for Charlie. I have another one in the works too. And today, I started yet another.
This one gives me a special connection to my mother.
In 1998 my mother was diagnosed with interstitial lung disease, a complication of her scleroderma. She was given a 50% chance of surviving beyond 5 years. She lasted the 5, passing in 2003, just two weeks after my wedding.
It was not a pleasant death. She was in a lot of pain. She was tired a lot. And she couldn't breathe. In the end she was on oxygen 24 hours a day and had to use a chair because she couldn't exert herself to walk.
On a visit from my aunt in the last two years before she passed, they sat and crocheted. Crochet did not tire her. My mother worked on an afghan intended as a gift for my cousin Joey and his wife, who at the time were expecting their first child. It was beautiful. Reversible, peach on one side; cream on the other.
My lovely sister in law gave me a baby shower when I was pregnant with my son Jimmie, before my world fell a part. My aunt and cousins were naturally unable to attend, living in Massachusetts, while we are in Illinois. But they surprised me by sending gifts to my sister in law for the shower. Included among the gifts, intended as a gift from my mother, my aunt had sent the afghan, retrieved from my cousin, unused. It was the gift that caused the tears to flow, especially as I read the note my aunt had included. And as I cried, so did the entire room.
The afghan is an important item in our household. My husband loves it as much as I do. And the more I crochet, the more my husband points to it and says, "Make one like that."
Well here is my first attempt:
