It was a low blow. I had looked forward to crocheting for my little ones. But now, no more yarn against their skin. At least acrylic yarn. And I couldn’t afford organic cotton yarn like doctors suggested. We could barely afford food and housing and medicine. Lots of medicine.
So I stopped crocheting. For a long time.
[Oh, just so you know, these Story Posts aren’t in chronological order. I thought about chronological order – for a long time. But staying timeline-correct offered me too many outs. Like, you know, “chicken outs”.]
Setting aside the crochet hook, I found other interests – like raising children and keeping them alive – to keep my mind, heart and hands occupied.
It wasn’t until we stayed at Ronald McDonald House in Colorado Springs, that I started to think about crocheting in earnest again.
My mind was spinning with anxiety (more about that as the story unfolds), my nails had nothing left to chew, and my stress-induced snacking was killing me.
The RM House rule, No Food in the TV Room, probably saved my life. And it got me crocheting.
Cindy, one of our new Springs’ friends (the locals granted me honorary citizenship so I could call Colorado Springs, the Springs 🙂 ) gave me a skein of yarn and I think even a hook. Or maybe I had a hook? I don’t remember. Can we let my memory off the hook on that little detail?
With all the preemies coming into the world – and going home with their parents – I started crocheting a baby blue blanket. It didn’t get done that trip, but it did inspire me to crochet for other little ones even though I couldn’t crochet for my own.
I think it was the second year we were out there (I’m tired just thinking about it), that one of the RMH ladies said, “Can you make baby hats for preemies?”
Sure. I can do that. And I did. And I gave it to her. And she said:
I went smaller.
Still too big.
Sorry, still too big.
Tears running down my face, I made the teeniest baby hat I’d ever seen.
Back on the Hook
And so, I was back on the hook.
I couldn’t crochet for my children who’s skin was so heated just under the surface that any bit of roughness brought fire to their senses and tears to their eyes, but I could crochet for other children.
They helped me find purpose for my nervous hands and I hope, in a little way, I helped them. They still help me now, and I hope I still help them.