The summer before 2nd grade my parents almost divorced. But they didnt (hooray?) My mom agreed to breakup with the man she was cheating on my dad with and give up her heavy drug use-otherwise she was going to loose us kids and my dad. She didn’t want to loose everything, so she agreed.

That year she focused on remembering how to crochet. Her aunt had taught her when she was a child but had replaced that habit with different ones. Since that sweet woman died that year she thought to re-teach herself with library books and distract herself with her old habit of reading novels (when her hands werent trembling-withdrawls, I think).

That year my dad had a terrible accident at work and spent the majority of the year in the hospital. She spent the year going back and forth from his hospital room, his sisters house (our only relative in the new state) to see after us kids, and work. She kept her crochet bag with her. Our last activity before the accident was a trip to Target. I got to help her choose yarn for the afghans she eas going to make. Red and Black for my dads favorite sports team. Shades of blue for my brother who at 12 wanted to be a pilot or a sea captain and pink and burgundy for me. Over the course of that year my mom made two insanely large afghans. The woman didnt know what she was doing and wasnt sure how to make an afghan or how to end an afghan and they were both the size of basically am entire room. Huge. They were huge.

When she made it to my afghan my dad was finally out of the hospital and we were all at home. She tried to teach me but I was much more interested in my novels. I learned how to make a chain–declared it a choker for my favorite doll and spent my time pressed against her chair looking up to watch every now and again how my afghan was coming along.

Soon after finishing my afghan she was diagnosed with MS and her body just–stopped. Within 6 months she was blind, she didnt have use of her arms, and was in a wheelchair. Within a year she was bedridden. My afghan was the last thing she made. Earlier this year I looked in every nook and crany for my afghan. But it was just gone. I had slept with this blanket since the 2nd grade (ignoring a 2 year stint when I was in charge of taking care of myself and I threw up on it and hid it in the closet as I didnt know how to wash a an afghan). I dragged it to college and back. Its so huge it has its own suitcase and it’s gone on all of my adventures.

I thought my old housekeeper stole it. Its suitcase was gone. I searched, as I said, through all the nooks and crannies, no luck. On thursday I took my pop to get the vaccine and he bought me 4 bookcases. I put them together on Friday and this morning I started putting books in. I found my afghan. Her suitcase is gone. But the afgan is here. Old and damaged like me, but here.

I am happy.