Gram taught me to knit when I was about eight. She patiently taught me the long-tail cast on and then showed me the knit stitch. A little knowledge can be a dangerous thing as they say, and this little bit of skill was just enough produce ugly, trapezoidal shaped garter stitch clumps. But I was knitting! For some reason our lessons never included casting off, so when I got tired I just unraveled it and started again.
While I practiced, Gram knit a feather and fan afghan that she gave to me. Inspiration I suppose.
As I grew up knitting fell by the wayside for me. It did for Gram too. I didn't pick up knitting needles for another 35 years.
As Gram got older, dementia set in. The last time I saw her still active and vital, she didn't remember me. The house was full of family and she was standing in the dining room. I hugged aunts and uncles and she came towards me with a smile. Her arms were outstretched and she took my face into her hands. Her eyes searched mine - back and forth, back and forth. A long pause hung between us before she finally said, "Do I know you? You sure are beautiful."
It was tough. She was left without memories of the past but all of the things that used to trouble her were also gone. She was happy and appreciative of every little thing. I just smiled and hugged her.
At a big family dinner that evening she sipped wine from a tiny aperitif glass. "Oh," she would say, "That tastes so good! I think I'd like a little more!" and magically her glass would be refilled. She had on large jewelry that didn't match her outfit but was so excited to be "going to a party with such nice people!"
While waiting for dinner I took my knitting out of my bag. Gram watched the needles moving for a little bit before she said, "You know, I think I once knew how to do that didn't I?"
"Yes," I said. "You're the one who taught me."
She thought about this for awhile and I could see that it was painful for her. Her eyes searched my face again – back and forth, back and forth.
"I wonder if I could still do it. . ." Her voice trailed off. For the first time since I had been there, she looked sad. I thought about handing her the needles and wool.
"Would you like to try?" I asked.
She searched my face again – back and forth, back and forth. "No," she quietly said. "I just can't quite remember."
"It's OK Gram."
Then she laughed and all the traces of sadness were wiped away.
"I sure would like a little bit more of whatever that was in my glass though!"
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