I didn’t know the details. I just knew his dear friend was not doing well, a man whose chemotherapy treatments made him feel cold all the time. And Richard wanted to do something about it.
He arrived at my weekly knitting class that fall, eager to learn. He mastered it easily. Eight weeks later, measuring more than six feet in length, the gift was finished, sewn together, wrapped and ready to deliver. There were no photos taken of its presentation at the hospital; everyone thought it was too private a moment to record anywhere other than spiritually. From what I heard, it would not have been easy to tell who felt better that day – the recipient or the knitter.
“Thank you.” said the latter, to me. “To be able to make something that will keep him warm while he endures the poisons being shot into his body – it makes me feel like I have really done something. It’s not like going out and buying something for someone. I can’t describe it, but it’s almost like I was trying to knit love and relief into that blanket.”
Around the knitters’ class table the conversation usually winds back to who’s making what for whom. A house gift. A new boyfriend. A new baby. A favorite teacher. A grandchild. A nurse who helped out during a rough patch. An ill friend. A raffle item for an auction. A wedding gift. The new knitters always look down incredulously at their first finished object and say, “I made that!” They give their gifts to their intended recipients and proudly convey the reaction…“You made this for me?!” And soon they are starting the next project.
Two sticks and some string. A way to say what is sometimes better said without words.
This is why I knit. And this is why I teach.