The news isn't good about our friend, so we are going to make a prayer shawl to enfold her, to comfort her, to warm her, to let her know we love her and that she's not alone on the journey she is on.
Maybe in an effort to not think about the surgeon's findings, I have immersed myself in the kitchen, a place I have avoided for a couple of years. I made 4 quarts of applesauce and 3 of cranberry sauce on Friday; today I made 8 qts. chili, 8 qts. split pea soup, and 2 qts. Sloppy Joe meat sauce.
Getting to sleep has been a struggle; I keep thinking about Charlotte. About the decisions she must make; about her family and her life. When I try to envision, in my dark, quiet room, behind my closed lids, the bright colors of yarn and the throws I want to create, Charlotte pushes it all away. It was my guaranteed soporific, the imagination alive in the dark; colors just seemed to combine themselves in fantastic and pleasing ways. Against the background of black they were electric; but not enough, last night, to hold Charlotte's smiling face from my mind. Not enough to prevent my hearing her voice and feeling her most sincere and enthusiastic hugs.
I think a good solution has found me; the prayer shawl will bring the two together in the right way. I hope you, my friends and fellow knitters, will be a part of the process; in prayer or in knitting, we will do this together, and maybe begin early the long time of healing.