Crocheting calms, heals the pain of losing a son

MANILA, Philippines — The last time I crocheted was a very long time ago. 1962. I was 13.

I learned at the feet of my mother, who was a crochet master. I was taught the basics verbally and was shown sample patterns to follow. I remember doing pieces that would make up a whole: a bedspread, a table runner, a piano top cover.

I don’t remember creating a big piece on my own. But there is this clumsy-looking single bedcover that is among the old things my mother gave me when I married and moved out of my parents' home. I must have made it because Mama always made beautiful, dainty and elegant pieces. It couldn’t be her work.

Bibi and teddy bear

I picked up new crochet needles and began to crochet again in 2016. I am now 67. Provoked by the birth of a granddaughter, I took to crocheting in order to create beautiful handmade pieces that will last and show love. I found that it also heals. It calms. For me, it also put a distance to the pain of losing a son.

Although there are things one does not forget, I was up against many obstacles when I began. Primarily, my mother is no longer here to tell me what to do or how to do the patterns. I found the bound crochet magazines she handed down to me, but I did not know how to read crochet instructions, so I enrolled with Lilli de Leon at Dreams Yarnshoppe to learn. What a wonderful mentor she proved to be.

Mainly, too, my memory has become brittle. It is no longer easy for me to remember the number of stitches I’ve made when I put down my needle, causing me no end of mistakes and frustration. Not to mention delays due to rework.

Bibi dress by Gramma

I cannot be talked to when I’m crocheting because I need to seriously concentrate, given my lapses and inadequacies. Often I’m heard to be counting aloud, as if that helps. When my husband Rene interrupts me at work, I’ll say snappishly, “Don’t talk to me!”

When I start crocheting, I go on and on, missing meals and sleep. So after I snapped at him several times, Rene asked me: “When can I talk to you?”

“What is there to talk about after all these years?”

Potholders and potpourri sachets

Well, he knows I love him.

So far I’ve done booties and caps, dollies and toys, headbands, sweaters and dresses for my granddaughter Bibi, and bookmarks and bags for friends. They were easy enough, so I thought, why not a blanket for my daughter Sarah? No sweat.

Or so I thought. And I thought I’d make Granny Squares, small colorful squares I could do wherever I was. So I began and made a few samples. And they turned out pretty neat. I was encouraged... until I tried to join them together. It took too much work! I didn’t have the patience.

Googling, I found a stitch I liked — the Tweaked Single Crochet — that I could crochet continuously. But one unbroken line on top of another, from top to bottom, would be dull and boring. Thankfully my friend Mae sent me a design that I could integrate to break the monotony, and voila! I made this blanket now in Sarah’s hands.

Stuffed toys

This took, altogether, six 858-yard ?spools, and roughly 48,000 stitches, maybe more. It took many hours of my life within the three months it took me to complete.

It took weeks of delay because of a recurring De Qurvain’s tenosynovitis and an increasing tingling and numbness in the hands I did not have before.

It took me hours of remembering.

Table placemats

Invariably, my concentration would drift to remember things of the past, and things of the present, and think of things yet to come, both good and bad. And when I wandered, I messed up.

Because this project was big and boringly repetitive, I also often invented ways to keep count to entertain myself, chunks of 10, 20, and 30. Before I needed a marker at count 50. “Remember 10,” I’d say, for October, or “20, for Grampa Azurin’s birthday,” or “30, pieces of silver,” or “40, cougar.”

Funny why I never thought to just put markers every 10 stitches or write down the count when I put down the needle to rest, or for necessities. I’m sure it would have made my life easier. Crazy. I am.

A blanket to keep Sarah warm.

Along the way, I made mistakes. Some of which I was able to unravel and redo, some I could not, and just had to increase — or decrease — a stitch to compensate. Some lines are tighter than some, so the blanket may be uneven in places. But never mind that. Sarah can just tell Bibi that her Gramma was already old and feeble when she made the blanket. Maybe both would value it more for the effort — against all odds.

Along the way, too, I thought to weave in a strand of my hair in a couple of places. Maybe that would make Sarah and Bibi think of me more often when I’m gone.

A blanket to keep you and Bibi warm, Sarah. Remember. I love you both very much. That’s forever.