Baby Blue

My mother-in-law taught me how to knit many years ago when I was a young mom and unable to concentrate for long periods of time. I wanted to learn because it was a way to bring me closer to her and I liked the idea of having a maternal hobby that required the skill of relaxing and focusing. Dolores was a magician of patience and kindness, she pulled out patience from nowhere like a rabbit from a hat. Her kindness was like a magician pulling an endless rope of silk scarves from their sleeve. She was truly magical. She put together a knitting kit with all the essentials: scissors, measuring tape, row counter, circular needles, straight needles, and everything a beginning knitter would need. She handmade a special tote bag to put everything in along with her handwritten tips and directions pinned to miniature knitted samples she made herself so I would have a visual reference to the patterns. She helped me knit an angora shawl, a felted purse, a halter-top, and our last project together, a blue baby blanket in a fan and feather pattern.

I was so impatient and unable or unwilling to put the time into dealing with the errors and pitfalls I kept running into, so I would have her fix them or finish them, which she did so lovingly and without judgment. When I chose the yarn for that last blanket Dolores was with me. We both loved going through the wall of yarn in a knitting store. The feel of it between our fingers and the carefully dyed colors of wool and soft cotton blends. I chose that blue yarn strictly on how it felt and because the color wasn’t officially a baby boy blue but had a Turkish and Maya blend to it. I chose to make a baby blanket because it was small and could be completed during Dolores’s visit. She would stay long periods of time with us once a year. I learned how to knit, how to cook, and how to calmly and correctly be a lady and a mother during those visits. I remember the circular bamboo needles, and the speedy yet delicate click clack of those needles as her hand smoothly went about purling and knitting. My hands were large and my rhythm halting. I felt as inadequate trying to relax and knit as I did in the chaos of motherhood. She made the time peaceful and my lopsided and loose stitches she would mend for me while I was doing other things.

I wonder if she felt as I did when she was a young mother, unseen and so inept. I wonder if she ever dreamt about other things besides being a mother. I know things are much different for my daughter than they were for me, and her grandmother’s world is like outer space, foreign and far away.

I put the knitting tote and kit away when Dolores passed away of leukemia. I didn’t think I could do it by myself and I was “too busy” for such fripperies. So, when my daughter Jessica told us she was pregnant I pulled out boxes of old baby clothes and there was the last blanket we knitted together. Dolores had wrapped it in protective tissue, and I had put it in the box to give away later to a pregnant family member. I honestly had forgotten about it and thought it would be given away way before my own daughter would be pregnant.

When Jessica found out she was having a boy it was like a warm hug from heaven. I knew the hands that taught me mindfulness and the importance of creating and leisure for the sake of your soul had a hand in this. We had knitted my grandson’s blanket before he existed. It was a direct message from my sweet mother-in-law that she is always here and that all is well.

I brought out the knitting supplies that were tucked away with my grief and had my daughter pick out yarn for a new blanket I would knit for my first grandbaby. She chose a cream color of 100% cotton yarn from Mindfulknits. I took the skeins and made balls that would roll easily into my hands from a bowl I would sit beside me. A lesson I learned from Dolores. I picked a basket weave pattern because I thought it would be the easiest to pick up. I must have started over a dozen times, until finally, with the help of YouTube, some swear words, and a few tears I was able to find my way.

Isaiah Roman Prudencio was born a week early and I was still knitting his cozy cream blanket. There are no deadlines or expectations and I relax and let go. The rhythms of life lost and anew wind through my hands as I count 4 purls and 4 knits, 4 purls and 4 knits until I am comforted and content. I breathe and feel the yarn. I see the progress of rows and rows turning into things and I feel satisfied. I hold finished scarves and blankets up for no one else’s approval but my own and then I give them away. There is something about counting and patterns that relax and calm the nervous system. It is therapy for addicts, Alzheimer patients, and now me.

I once told Dolores that her work was so beautiful and precise that she could sell them. She already knew what I am learning, which is, not everything beautiful is for sale and not everything you do is for judgment. Some things are yours and for the people you love. Knitting helps me stay in the moment and the past peacefully. I’m glad that miraculous moments connecting generations together can happen through a hobby. I love that simple activities are useful for your soul and your wellbeing. I love that when I knit I connect with my mother-in-law who has passed and my newborn grandson. I am grateful.