I retreat to her old comfy 70’s orange chair, “her arms” in the form of a brightly colored blanket wrapped around me. (My grandmother crocheted most of her life, I have many bright blankets from her hands.)
When missing my son washes over me like strong ocean waves, this is where I go. This room bathed in the morning sun, surrounded by the colors of the rainbow in the form of yarn is the place I go to let a little more healing happen. I pick up the project that I only work on at these times. I knit and remember. I let myself miss him. I let myself grieve. Here I am surrounded by my favorite things and memories, it is my quiet place.
This project is washed with my tears prayers, and long hours of loving memories. It is many colors, dark and stormy blacks and purples, happy cheerful pinks, yellows and blues. Someday this will be a blanket of memories and healing.