Back when Lucas first asked me to crochet an aphgan, queen-size to fit over all 6 feet of him, cotton to please Milly and her quest for natural softness, well, I knew I should be willing to try.
I had no idea that I would use up hours crocheting granny squares while sitting beside a hospital bed.
Folks passing by say the colors are beautiful, so much love obviously goes into every stitch, a very good way to pass the time.
There might as well be a recording and just push the button on the comment.
Inside my head, I feel the need for the hook to be in my hands, to feel the rhythm, as if I am not doing anything correctly until I crochet just two more stitches.
a way of coping with other feelings
of being helpless
of needing patience (the doctor says my husband cannot have nourishment pass his lips for-at the very least- 3 more days)
of making mental notes about when he will be able to come home but not really finishing any task towards the goal
knowing our old cats are lonesome and want attention
but also very much aware of every bit of hair and dander
surgical incision cannot be contaminated
I can feel myself closing inward, crochet hook in hand
at least something pretty comes from it
He’s still on an IV drip.
Sometimes, rather than count stitches, I count drops.
Each of us holding on to life.
~~love and Huggs, Diane