At the risk of sounding dramatic, yarn kind of saved my life. Certainly my sanity.
It didn't keep me from eating my weight in cake the in year following my dad's death in 2011, but it did give me a focus during the years I spent losing babies. There's nothing like being able to create something--anything--when it feels like the very last thing you'll ever be able to do is create something.
In fact, I did fail at baby making. Four attempts, four losses (five, really, since the last was a set of twins). But during those difficult years I clung to my ability to make things out of yarn. Ugly, mishapen things at first, but I didn't care--I furiously hooked my way through skein after skein just the same. Being able to wrest control away from a tightly wound ball of yarn and whirl it into something of my choosing in the midst of such utter chaos in my reproductive life was an unexpected salve on a great, gaping wound.
I also wrote. A lot. But as time passed and decisions were made, I found it more and more difficult to continue contributing to that fledgling blog. It happens to a lot of babyloss bloggers. At a certain point the loss blog just runs its course. And that's a good thing, I suppose. I certainly haven't figured it all out yet (hence my recent return to sessions with Therapist Lady), but I don't seem to need to ruminate endlessly on the minutia of loss anymore. At least not in a blog, anyway.
The losses are part of me in a way they weren't before. I've learned that time doesn't heal all wounds. Time merely gives you the tools you need to figure out what dressings are going to keep those wounds from continuing to bleed unchecked. And now that they're securely bandaged and as much a part of who I am as my right arm or left eye, it feels like the right time to shift focus a little.
And so, String Theory.
The soothing rhythm of hooks and yarn: over, through, under, through. The quiet click and slide of needles and yarn: through, around, under, off.
And today, this:
Knitting is not my best sport. I'm relearning the lessons my mom patiently taught me some 30 odd years ago, so I'm not particularly adventurous. This rolled brim chemo cap pattern is one I've repeated at least 10 times, but I'm determined to take a creative leap and try something a little less mindlessly simple one of these days. With the help of my patient and talented knitter friends near and far, of course, because I've also learned that you can't make it through difficult times without kindhearted people holding your hand every step of the way.
Up next: I started a crocheted cardigan! Stay tuned...