First Person
Love, Loss, and What I Knit
Before I became a knitter, I just thought it would be fun to make things with sticks and string. What I didn’t realize is that it would become my personal knitters anonymous and save my sanity. Or that it would force me to confront my feelings about perfection, or the lack of it.
I became a knitter when my husband Tom developed throat cancer about 18 years ago. The sheer terror of it kept me up at night, all night. I self-medicated with yarn and reruns of Becker, in which Ted Danson plays this curmudgeonly but good-hearted doctor. On my iPad, I would switch from scenes of Becker grousing at the local diner to videos of how to perform a slip-slip-knit.
It was a year of hell, filled with surgery, tube feedings, and so many trips to Mayo that it felt like a second home. In a horror film.
The result is a beautiful black sweater that I can’t bear to wear. It reminds me too vividly of sitting in the waiting room while they sprayed radiation into Tom’s neck. The good news: he survived, and thrived, and I found a new passion.
The black sweater that I knit while Tom was enduring radiation treatments.
In the beginning of that year of hell, I stumbled into a knitting store in a little blue house on Scottsdale Road in Arizona. It was like walking from the horror film into the inside of a rainbow. Yarn was piled in cubbies and hanging from the ceiling. I wandered around, holding the soft, lovely skeins to my cheek, my eyes closed, healing my fractured soul, just a little.
The owner, a no-nonsense woman, must have sensed I needed comforting. She helped me pick out yarn, needles, and a pattern. When I screwed up, I went back, and she helped me fix it. I went back again and again. Years later, she closed her shop. It was like a death.
Then, knitting went digital, and my knitting community went global. I found MDK and its daily knitting missives, and I instantly bought all the wonderful Field Guides. I discovered Knit Stars, which each year releases videos of amazing designers around the world.
I’ve made mittens with the face of John Lennon, pink-and-white checkered socks designed by Summer Lee, and a Sushi and Snark Wrap by Casapinka that’s like a poncho, but not. Her tip: Never position it as a crotch pointer.
After Tom’s cancer, knitting helped me rebuild my shattered courage. I don’t remember where I first heard the phrase, “It’s not hard; it’s just new,” but it was definitely in my yarn world. I’m pretty sure it was Gaye Glasspie, @ggmadeit. I learned to knit a cable. Lace. Bobbles.
I flew to Thailand and bathed an elephant in a river. We sold our house and moved into a camper van to travel the country.
The ice-blue scarf I knit for my mother.
Knitting helps me embrace the fact that I’m an odd bird. I look for other odd birds in the wild. I love their twinkly eyes and wrinkled faces and pink hair and excitement over a repurposed breath-mint case to carry stitch markers.
I talk to them in airports, and campgrounds, and coffee shops. Amazing conversations start with, “What are you making?”
As I knit, I feel a yarn lifeline connected to that sod-busting woman on the plains, spinning yarn on a drop spindle to make socks for her family. And to the women I visited in Vietnam weaving in dirt-floor houses with no electricity.
It’s a lifeline of women’s work, historically considered of little value. I’m so proud that, despite the backbreaking work of birthing and feeding and washing and nursing the sick, they summoned the precious nanoseconds of energy they had left to stitch creativity into a shawl or quilt or rug.
I’ve knit shawls for people I love, hats for friends with cancer. A burnt-orange scarf that hugs Tom’s scarred neck. For our precious son, Nate, a sweater exploding with color and filled with joy.
The sweater exploding with color for our son Nate.
At first, if I made a mistake, I went back to fix it, even if it was waaaay back, even if it was something only I would notice. Imperfection plagued me. Now, I’m more forgiving. A few oddly shaped stitches? Well, it’s f#%#ing handmade. Want perfection? Get your boring, machine-made knitwear online.
But when imperfection becomes unacceptable, like a cable leaning the wrong direction, or some drunk knitting you don’t recognize the next morning, or a sweater that won’t fit around your thigh, knitters know what to do. We call it frogging, ripping out stitches, rip-it, rip-it, rip-it, unknitting to get back to the place where you can go forward again.
Bonus: Frogging works on real life, too. Frog that bad job or boyfriend. Rip-it until you get to the spot where you can stop, take a breath, and move ahead to remake your world.
I did.
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Thank you for your story. We’ve also lived through cancer. It’s been many years ago now. We are odd birds too and sold our home in California and moved to Wales. There’s no time like the present to knit a new life.
Thank your for sharing this story. It really moved me. I felt echos of my story reflected in it.
Another odd bird here! Cancer survivor … & travel lover
So very true! Sounds like a wonderful adventure!
When I make a mistake my mantra is “Let the hand be seen”, a quote from Karin Larsson. She was the wife of Swedish artist Carl Larsson and she was an amazing textile art.
I love that quote! Thanks for sharing!
Hi, found your story in my browser this morning. Am so pleased that all is now well in your life. I two have knitted though sadness, knitting by a hospital bed an hospital corridors. My journey did not end well, my wonderful husband died.
That was many years ago, I remember putting the wool away for years. However the first grandchild expected and I started again. Realised how I had missed the calm and peace of knitting. You always go back to knitting.
Peace to all.
Love this!! I agree with leaving a mistake or two in just to prove it was done by a fail able human. Also, if you have consistently done the stich “wrong” it becomes your own pattern.
That is a quote I will remember and keep close. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.
Karen, thank you for sharing this beautiful quote – the words exactly describe the decision I recently made about project I just completed.
You are an absolute gem and I so loved your story.
Thank you Ali from Australia
Best wishes and knitters rock !
They are the best and you are one of them as am I x
Thank you for sharing from down under!
Thank you for this amazing read. I love how you describe the connection you feel to creative women around the globe and throughout history. Now, as I knit, I will feel the connection to you.
This was inspiring and reminded me of Elizabeth Zimmerman- knit on with confidence through crises- or something like that!
Thanks for this!
Elizebeth, our mentor for all things!
Thanks for sharing your story – beautifully written. And so glad that Tom is healed, accompanying you on your wandering. Always with a project in hand! I too persist in talking to strangers anywhere about their knitting or crocheting. My husband doesn’t really get it, but happily wears hand made socks daily!! Best wishes to you and Tom.
Socks are such a labor of love.
Exactly!
A friend who was getting me to start knitting again said, ‘ keep going. No one will ever notice.” what I asked her about something I had done. So I have embraced that!
Me, too. I no longer point out problems. They are like scars. Just a part of living and creating!
Thank you, Judy!
I, too, was inspired to knit by the woman in the little blue house on Scottsdale Road. And I, too, was devastated when her shop closed.
I send best wishes to you and your family. “Knit on!”
She was the best. I would love to see her again to tell her how she saved my soul!
What a lovely story in my inbox this morning. Glad to know there’s a next stage for my knitting adventure. I am currently able to rip back ‘til I get it right,’ because of all the things I’ve learned from the fixing.
Knit on…
Thank you for the kind words!
As a cancer survivor and a widow, this article really hit my heart and emotions.
I’m glad that your husband has survived and thrived. Cancer deserves to have its ass kicked!
Knitting is part of who I am. I have proudly passed this love onto my daughter.
Thank you for sharing your Knitting journey.
Thank you!
Thank you for sharing your story, Judy. It hit so many chords with me. I, too became a knitter when my husband faced a similar fate. Your Tom’s experience gives hope to so many. My Bob wasn’t as fortunate. For a long time, I associated knitting with waiting rooms, hospital rooms, and I put knitting in a mental box of sad memories. My binge of choice was Doc Martin ….I’d get to the end of the series and start it again.
Until….a friend referenced a piece that she read on Snippets. I started getting up at the crack of dawn to read the new entries. First, it was only on Saturdays. Then, it was every morning. I saw knitting in a new way. In the past eight years, I’ve learning new techniques, drooled over new yarns and patterns. laughed at my mistakes. I am more aware of sheep breeds, the challenges facing the industry, the legacy and history of this craft. MDK has been a jumping off point for learning more on my own. I’ve expanded my television-watching and music taste beyond Doc Martin!
In this time of reflecting on gratitude, I am so grateful that you wrote your poignant article.
I am so thankful to MDK for the jumpstart they gave me when I needed it most!
I’m so sorry to hear about Bob, but heartened to know that MDK is comforting for you, as it is for me. Like a friend coming to visit each day!
We’re so thankful you’re here!
This was so timely for me to read. When my Mother was dying almost 19 years ago, I knit thru my grief. December 1 marks 18 years since my husband died unexpectedly. When I couldn’t do anything else, I knit. Today I’ll be making an appointment to euthanize my little dog who is just a few weeks shy of his 18th birthday. He came to me along with his litter mate February after losing my husband. Those two little dogs along with my knitting saved my life. I lost my girl 4 years ago. And now I’ll lose him. The grief is already consuming me. But I know that once again, I’ll pick up my needles and yarn and knit thru it. Tears may fall on my work along the way but also will come healing.
So very sorry to hear about your sweet dog. We’ve been there, and understand.
I, too, will be making that call today. Angel was re-homed to us just over 6 years ago and was 16 at the time. He turned 22 back in May and we’ve had a few ups and downs healthwise over the last few months but now it’s time. He has brought us so much joy and a lot of comfort as my son went through cancer treatment during Covid. I know it will be hard to say good-bye but it’s what is best for him. And for your little fellow too.
So sorry to hear!
My mom taught me to knit after my 6 year old son suddenly passed away in an accident at his elementary school.
Knitting and my 2 other children are what has carried me through my life.
Knitting helped my mind and my hands to stay moving. I still can’t say exactly why or how I was able to focus at all through my grief but, knitting has been my constant companion.
I can only imagine your pain. For me, the beautiful fibers, the amazing colors and the repetitive stitches were all somehow comforting and healing. And the idea of creation in the midst of destruction helped. I am thinking of you.
I lost my husband this summer and knitting has become my lifeline it keeps my mind busy and my knitting community has been my salvation it is my safe spot
So very sorry to hear. We will think of you as we stitch.
❤️❤️❤️ knitting helps regulate my much bumpy terrain. I am trying to let go of perfectionism and embrace the lace that has one yarn over too far to the life of the stack. Sigh. Plato was right. There is no perfect.
And who wants to be perfect. So boring!
I will send you a check for a therapy session. This was wonderful. Thanks. Sue
Pay it forward to your local yarn store.
Hi Judy,
I love the sweater you made for your son and your wonderful essay!
Do you remember the pattern you knit for your son’s sweater? It made me smile the moment I saw his picture.
I can’t remember off the top of my heat, but I will dig it out of my pattern box when I go to the studio later this week.
So beautifully written Judy. Those photos of your husband and son bring to life that sense of possible impending loss you endured while you all were experiencing your husband’s cancer. They both look like such beautiful people. I am somewhat familiar with that long Scottsdale Road and am a bit regretful that I never got to visit that little blue house. I don’t even think it exists as a building anymore as I’ve never seen it. Glad it was there for you when you needed it.
Thank you so much. They are lovely people. And the little house is gone now. I sigh every time I drive past its former spot.
Judy…the picture of your son is, well, perfection..
Thank you! He is perfection.
I loved your story and creating does get us through those rough days.
PS what is the pattern for Tom’s scarf?
Yes, it does. I can’t remember off the top of my head, but I will find it when I go to the studio later this week.
I LOVE these thoughts! I too knitted a sweater I don’t wear while sitting vigil when my dad died. It is a reminder of a certain period in my life.
Knitting and frogging is such a perfect metaphor for life. It isn’t perfect. It isn’t easy. Sometimes you need to go back and start over. In the end, it isn’t the finished object that matters as much as the process I went through to reach the end. With luck, determination, and faith, the final object is beautiful in all its imperfections.
So interesting that you feel the same way about your sweater. I sometimes wonder if I should gift it to someone who isn’t so invested in the difficult feelings, but then I think maybe I need to sit with them awhile longer.
I was an avid knitter until what was a 12 month period of significant losses. First my brother who died from Lewy Body Dementia and then my sweet mom who taught me to knit when I was a child. Although she struggled with dementia the last few years of her life, she lived a full and joyful life knitting up to a week before she died at the age of 101. It’s been hard to get back into the groove of regular knitting again, but each time I pick up my knitting I find comfort in the rhythm of the sticks. Thank you for this story, and for the reminder that I am in the “frogging” era of my life and will find my way to a new rhythm
My mother died this year, and I am still processing. Mortality isn’t easy to contemplate. See you on the other side of frogging our way through.
You are Correct! and I do have to Correct-it!
Knitted and finished the top… Wa-ay too wide. I planned too much of the openng under the arms. The upper part was perfect and including a kitchener… Not ripping this then. So, undone the side seams, cut it just under arms and now lets go in-the-round… all the way down…
I have a couple sweaters in the “to-redo” pile that need shortening after I wore them. Necessity is the mother of invention!
What a gentle, peaceful, inspiring story! Thank you for sharing. (P.S. Your black sweater is gorgeous!)
Thank you, Cindy
Thank you Judy!
First of all, I adore that Sarah Hatton cardigan – such a classic.
I love the comments about my constant companion works-in-progress; and my finished garments, too. They frequently lead to lovely stories about Moms and Grandmoms…
Knitting has kept me somewhat sane during several periods in life; and currently as I care for my recently widowed mother (1 month today)
My current project, a VERY simple 4 row repeat has been ripped out numerous times and it is just ok.
Thank you also for your closing lines.
“Rip-it until you get to the spot where you can stop, take a breath, and move ahead to remake your world.” wonderful advice. xo
Thanks, Nell.
I love this. Thank you.
Thank you
I’d love to meet you in an airport or campground any day!!! Knit on!!
I’ll keep my “odd-bird” binoculars nearby.
OMG, are we sister in another life? I have the tiniest altoids tin in my notions bag where keeps my stitch markers. Also, my sister (we’re two old ladies that live together in an apartment) just had surgery for uterine cancer. Her oncologist found some outside the uterus so she will need chemo and radiation probably. I am basically her care giver. She does not drive. Knitting (and God) has been my companion all through the waiting rooms, the doctor’s visits, the scans, the blood work and everything else. Her prognosis is very good. But knitting keeps my hands and mind on other things. And I get a lot of WIPs done!
So true. When I wasn’t knitting, my mind would spiral to the worst-case scenario. But with something in my hands, it had to stay focused in the present. Sending good thoughts for your sister.
“excitement over a repurposed breath-mint case to carry stitch markers.”
Laughed out loud at this (and other lines) — happen to have that very same item in use for the same reason. Great article, thanks.
Ha. The best, highest use.
You said it exactly! It soothes and heals. It is my lifeline right now as I watch my folks decline. I honestly think I benefit more from it than therapy.
Maybe therapists should teach it!
So many of us have knit in hospital rooms (and ERs) … but also in lectures, conferences, trains … I love being at a conference where I see other knitters.
We are never alone.
A lovely story, bringing tears to ready eyes.
I have knitted since I was 12, taught by my dad, who learned in the Marines. But I started knitting voraciously after my divorce and then when my son and husband died in a bad, bad year.
Nothing left but to knit.
So I too reknit a life worth living, keeping my surviving bipolar son alive while rescuing animals, helping elders get un-scammed, the homeless clean up their messy lives, and other families get through the grief of surviving a suicide.
It sounds like a terrible lot when I actually list the concerns of my days, but knitting makes it all possible, the well-stitched backdrop to a very full life. Knitting teaches the lesson of NOT SUCCUMBING. the knitting goes on– the next stitch, the next row… ABK, Always Be Knitting.
Thanks for your inspiring example.
I’ll knit beside you all the way.
Thank you for this. Lovely article! Knitting blanket squares got me through my son’s chemo treatments last year. He’s thankfully in remission. The blanket is now a reminder to be thankful for science, amazing medical professionals, and the love that surrounded us through that time.
Happy Thanksgiving, indeed!
So wonderful to hear about your son. And what a positive way to remember his happy ending!
Thank you, Judy. Yours is a story of hope and love. Knitting and music bring love into my life. Arthritis has been the ache that has persisted in recent years. I had shoulder surgery earlier this year, but except for a couple weeks, I went right back to knitting. I also play the piano and that has been improving over time.
Bless your journeying, knitting, and your family!!
My doctor told me she could tell I’m a knitter because the bones in my wrists are very strong. Ha! Does the movement help the arthritis pain or make it worse?
“Frogging in real life”. Yes, I need to do some of this. Thank you for a wonderful story.
Thank you!
Thank you for sharing this beautiful story.
What fabulous and familiar sentiments! God bless you and your precious family and all of us knitting this world back together!!!
I quite understand where perspective I find knitting or crocheting a place to go to to be .me maybe not perfect but still in the works keep up the writing and the knitting may both of you have long happy lives
Thanks, Cecelia!
Oh I so loved reading your story. I can relate to all of it. I know lots of people don’t understand why we love to knit so much but that’s OK. I’m just so glad that we get pure joy from the endeavor.
So nice meeting you this morning.
Thank you, Pat!
This is so great, Judy. I love the pix of Tom and Nate in your creations. I totally get it about never wearing the sweater you made (though it is beautiful); a friend who had breast cancer and wore a wig after chemo, would never touch it or wear it again after her hair grew back. So you not wearing the sweater makes perfect sense.
Years ago I bought a beautiful loomed shawl for my mother to take on an Alaskan cruise. It was mostly soft pink/gray/white/rose/lavender/silver sparkle/sky blue/pale green, etc. But there were three shorts strands, maybe three inches each at random spots, all in vibrant rainbow colors. The artist, from Eugene, Ore., told me that it was a kind of artist’s signature, unexpected and not readily noticeable…until you cannot unsee them. I loved that. I own the shawl now.
Sounds amazing!
I too had the same experience. Worked so hard on a sweater while my husband was ill with prostate and then lung cancer. Very tough times but the sweater now reminds me of the great years we did have.
That’s wonderful. What a great way to remember.
Love your store we all have something we have to work though. Thanks
Thank you for sharing. I also can’t believe you could see that black yarn well enough to knit your black sweater. I hope you do wear it–it’s beautiful.
So funny you say that. I was such a newbie I didn’t know it was hard to see the black yarn!
In reading all these comments, it is a reminder of how similar we all are. I am 80 this coming year and have knitted since I was 3 or 4. My grandmother taught me to knit and she died when I was 4.
After 40 years of marriage, my husband had Multiple Systems Atrophy. In 4 years he went from being a strong, healthy and active man to being unable to do anything. In that 4 years he was always warm and cozy in the many sweaters and socks I had made for him and making more, while looking after him, kept me sane.
In the 17 years since, my knitting has been a great comfort and now, our 22 year old granddaughter has found the joy of knitting. Ist sweater completed and plans for many other things.
Life throws so much at us, but we endure and thrive if we have an interest (passion?) such as our knitting.
Good wishes to all
How wonderful that your granddaughter shares your passion.
Thank You for sharing your story. I began knitting again after many years when my husband passed, young, 54. I wasn’t ready to lose him and the many hours of pacing the rooms was replaced with knitting. It has been a salve for many of us.
Blessing to you and your hubby. Safe travels.
Thank you, Debra.
Beautiful work and article. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you, Susan
I loved your story. I lived in Surprise AZ for years. I love to both it abd crochet. Just finished shed a hundred bucket hats and donated them to a local shelter. When I retired from nursing I moved from AZ to Colorado but found it was way too cityfied and not the way I left it in the 1970s. I lasted 7 years watching Denver take over the front range till there was no more wild west and the friendly town feeling g was gone. So last summer I moved up to Cheyenne WY and as I turn 80 Ina couple weeks I’ve found my perfect sized community. When I packed to move I realized I had 17 big boxes of yarn so that spurred my hat project. I have decreased my stash to a reasonable amount and now am trying to a tally make myself some things.
If you are ever in Cheyenne I would love to meet you.
I don’t do blogs as I am definitely a non-techie.
I do answer emails sk that’s included here.
I don’t think my stash will ever be “reasonable.”
You YOU ARE SO TALENTED! ❤️❤️❤️what a life! So happy to be apart of it.
Thank you!
I can so relate to this.my husband had a stroke 3 years ago, knitting,crochet and patchwork have been my salvation.afer the bush fires in Australia ,I made loads of nests for koalas to snuggle up in,tops for all my fake friends and now on a mammoth brioche rib batwing jumper for my darling daughter.hope she keeps it forever
Ahhh. Koalas! I saw some when I visited Australia when I was in high school in Hawaii. I’m hoping to visit again one day.
Ah yes. Knitting for sanity after the throat cancer diagnosis…been there too. The comfort of being able to control SOMETHING – bless you, needles and yarn – while keeping down the scream inside that was ready to burst at any time was my lifeline. The meditative mechanics of knits and purls brought peace, structure and stability. I am grateful for our husbands’ recovery and for this craft that connects us. Thank you for sharing your story.
After a rough two months of losing 3 important people in my life i had trouble concentrating on much of anything. So I began knitting an Irish fisherman’s sweater. I wasn’t even sure I would finish it, but watching the complicated patterns grow was comforting. I finished the sweater but haven’t put it together. Someday i will, but for now the knitting helped me find calm moments.
You have been where I’ve been, and know what I know. So glad your husband, too, came through.
Loved reading this!! I yearn to be a knitting new American Nomad!!
Join us on the road! There’s always room for one more!
Oh what a lovely find this article was for me today. My husband is palliative, I am his caregiver and we live rural. There are moments when my brain is mushy and overwhelmed, tearful, sore back, frustrated and sad. Knitting is my lifeline. And for those foggy moments, it means a project that is easy to work on. Other days I tackle the more challenging advanced ones. But it is ALL so healing and for that I am grateful!
Sheryl, So sorry to hear about your husband. Isn’t it wonderful that the online knitting community is always there no matter how remote you are.
The knitting algorithm ‘gods’ sent this to me this morning. So glad you found solace in knitting. Love
Tom’s scarf.
Enjoy your lovely life, I am envious of the available yarns in th US. Just bought Berocco Gaia and Isola,
and Juniper moon summer solstice. ✨
Postage is devastating…..
Jane, New Zealand
I stop at yarn stores everywhere we roam. They are all unique. I’m always looking for locally dyed or spun yarn. And all squishy mail should be free!!!
Knitting really brings people together. I have found the same with crochet. It is also worth the time being thoughtful. I have a few projects I cannot decide wether to go back to or to frog.
Me, too.
Quite a lovely piece.
Thank you, Noah.
Judy, I have been in it all my life, but when my husband died, I need a sweater. I was knitting a sweater for myself and I kept knitting it and finished it and I wear it to remember him by because he was still there when I was knitting part of it and it reminds me, I too can get through shit.
Yes, Lisa. You made it!
I am a fellow knitter, having learnt from my two grandmothers where I grew up in Norway. And I, too, have knitted my way around the world. And my husband had, and survived cancer. Now I would like to be braver and knit more exciting exciting stuff. Thank you for these very inspiring thoughts! Xx
Thank you, Gro.
Enjoyed this article. I have found knitting to help me cope with extreme challenges in life. I always have a knitting bag with me when I travel and in strategic places in my home.
Me, too. The first thing I pack in my bag or in the van.
A lovely story, bringing tears to ready eyes.
I have knitted since I was 12, taught by my dad, who learned in the Marines. But I started knitting voraciously after my divorce and then when my son and husband died in a bad, bad year.
Nothing left but to knit.
So I too reknit a life worth living, keeping my surviving bipolar son alive while rescuing animals, helping elders get un-scammed, the homeless clean up their messy lives, and other families get through the grief of surviving a suicide.
It sounds like a terrible lot when I actually list the concerns of my days, but knitting makes it all possible, the well-stitched backdrop to a very full life. Knitting teaches the lesson of NOT SUCCUMBING. the knitting goes on– the next stitch, the next row… ABK, Always Be Knitting.
Thanks for your inspiring example.
So sorry to hear about your terrible losses. And so cool that your dad taught you. Thank you for helping so many others. I’m so glad knitting is a comfort.
I loved reading this writing. All so darn true for so many of us.
Thanks, Sue
Thank you so much for sharing this. Knit on!!
Thank you.
“Before I became a knitter, I just thought it would be fun to make things with sticks and string. What I didn’t realize is that it would become my personal knitters anonymous and save my sanity.”
Yep! Took up knitting in the first weeks of the pandemic lockdown. No one close, yet everyone, potentially was at death’s door. Not sure I would have made it through without sticks and string to keep me whole.
Thanks for a lovely post!
I think a lot of people took the plunge during the pandemic. Keep on keeping on!
I so much enjoyed reading this Judy.
Thank you, Jill
I enjoyed reading about your expriences in knitting and how you’ve thought during knitting. I’m happy you can forgive the mistakes stitches, I’m trying to do so,
I have same feeling about colours and giving happiness for those aroung who i knit something. Again, i enjoyed your exprience and thank you for sharing with others.
By the way, I’m from IRAN.
Thanks for the kind words, Parvin.
Hi Judy, thanks for your beautiful story. It has revived my soul. I have recently gone through cancer treatment and the chemo has messed with my brain. After reading your article I decided to try to knit again and somehow my hands remembered what to do. I needed a kick in the pants to get me going. I’m left handed and my grandmother taught me to knit as a kid, like a right handed knitter, she thought it would help with my dexterity. The world is made for righties and you have to adapt she told me. Today you helped me adapt once again! I’ll always be grateful!!
Tina,
I’m so thrilled to read of your revival. One of my dear friends is undergoing chemo right now, and she speaks often of her “chemo brain.” I’m so happy your hands remember what to do. Knit on!
Thank your for sharing this story. It really moved me. I felt echos of my story reflected in it.