Why Yarn Makes Me Cry

Annabel Lee Evert
your great grandma
(circa 1946)

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So kids, the older you get, the more you realize what is important.  So much of who you are is based on critical people in your life and your relationships with them-especially the ones you have while you were growing up.  What is heart-wrenching and beautiful about this is that the people that matter most will not be here forever.  You *have* to treat them as a gift even if they are not perfect and *let them know how much you love them when you have the chance* because you never know when it's their time to go and be with God.  If you keep on believing, this will bring you the peace that you will see them again, but why wait the rest of your mortal life when you can just tell their mortal self now?  Your great grandma Evert was one of the most important people in my life.  Not many people knew her because she was quite an introvert, but I knew her quite well.  She passed away two years ago and I still am processing it.  Due to circumstances beyond my control, I never got to say goodbye to her, so I wrote her this letter.  I know she is over my shoulder proofreading right now.  She was always nosing about - that is said with much love, by the way.  That was one way that she showed me she loved me.




Grandma,
Today I got to crochet for the first time in forever.  I love creating something, the rhythmic counting and the feeling of yarn slipping through my hands.  But, yarn sometimes makes me cry, as does a freshly picked strawberry and looking into the beautiful blue eyes all three of my children have.  Why?  Because it makes me think of you and how much I miss you.  Why did you die?  You are the first person in my life that has died that has been a loss that lingers on.  Why?  You weren't just a picture on the wall or someone I occasionally saw from time to time and had superficial conversations with on a holiday.  You were part of my daily life.  I was your only grandchild-you were and still are very important to me.  I feel like I let you down and wasn't there for you in the end-I can't express how sorry I am.
       

my grandma's remaining yarn stash-what to do?

When I think back upon my childhood you were always there.  You taught me so many things-how to crochet, cook, bake and decorate cakes.  I have so many wonderful memories of playing cards with you, picking strawberries and raspberries with you and coming over to your house for potato soup and dumplings.  I'm fairly sure it's "illegal" for an Irish person to not have potatoes at every meal, correct?  And where do I start with those meals-I'm pretty sure you could've made a piece of cardboard edible.  Your cooking was simple but delicious.  So much of the food you used you grew yourself.  Some of my favorite memories were sitting at your kitchen table after a tough day at school while you cooked for me.  By the way, every Easter I stink up the house and make pickled eggs because I think of you.  Scott hates the smell but he deals with it because he knows it's a way I remember you.  Natalie asks me to "do yarn" with her, and I think that's awesome.  I'll teach her everything-I got it.




Among the other things that I love about you was your sassiness and spunk.  I *may* have a similar personality trait-I don't know if my mom told you that raising me was like raising a little version of you, but it was. You told me how it was when I really didn't want to hear about it-and (regrettably so) especially after becoming a mother, I have looked up into the heavens and said "You were right, grandma, okay?  You were right?!?!?"  And then, it makes me think of you and laugh.  It is *uncanny* how much Natalie reminds me of both of us.  Her stubborn spirit drives me crazy and makes me smile at the same time because I know that trait will serve her well and endure tough times.    I even think about how our marriages seem to have a similar dynamic.  I am the high strung one and Scott keeps me sane and somewhat relaxed.  Sound familiar?  One thing is true - we both found very good, faithful men that love us for who we are.  That is a gift from God Himself, especially to put up with gals like ourselves!




My mind originally went to you when doing a combination of crocheting and watching a show about school killings, which jogged my memory about how my great uncle Ralph was lost at seven years old in the Bath School Disaster.  I didn't realize how soon after this tragedy you were born.  I can only imagine the joy you brought to my great grandparents after they went through the ultimate of tragedies, but I have to wonder what the family dynamic was for you-coming after such an event.  I so wished I would've asked these questions, but I ran out of time.  My mom mentioned that great grandma used to play violin and piano, but the music seemed to have stopped.  Did it stop when Ralph died?  Was there an overall somberness?  Were great grandma and great grandpa overprotective of you given what happened?  I could find that very believable.  I find it curious that you never learned music-what was your life like?  You were very stoic on the outside, but I know underneath that you loved deeply.  I can relate.  Why do we do that?




What was left of the school.  The whole school had been filled with explosives, but only part of the explosives detonated.

          My Great Uncle Ralph-the mom in me makes my heart break when I see this picture.  Would I be here if he wouldn't have passed?

One thing is true-you were a fighter and didn't stop until the end.  How did you lose your mother at 16 and carry on?  I can't imagine the strength that must've taken you.  One of my favorite memories of you is rescuing my mom and I from a small gardener snake which had found its way inside our house.  My mom called you over to rescue us and that snake met its maker when you took it outside with a shovel!   The image of a small elderly woman whacking a shovel around in the driveway makes me giggle.  Later in life, you were diagnosed with type II diabetes and managed it for 20 years.  Every time I had to give myself an insulin shot during my last pregnancy I thought about you and how you coped with this disease for so long.  In addition, you had two heart attacks and came out of a quintuple bypass successfully.  That's *a lot* to cope with physically and emotionally.  Why wasn't I there for you?  Well, I didn't grow up until after I started having medical complications myself.  I began to give people a break after I started seeing the importance of trying to walk in their shoes.






Later in your life, dementia started to really hit.  I feel like dementia took my grandma from me.  You became short, bitter and hateful.  What was so hard for me to understand is how I had to separate these things from who you really were and remember who you were, but I really struggled with this.  It scared me to see someone who played such a huge role in my life become so difficult and combative.  I think if this had happened after I got a few more years under my belt, I would've had so much more patience with you-instead I stopped calling and cut off a lot of contact-simply because it was confusing and it hurt.






And then-after enduring two heart attacks, the onset of panic attacks (something I can relate to) and a quintuple bypass, you got cancer?  Oral cancer?  This hardly seemed fair.  They tried radiation and they thought it worked but it didn't.  The cancer came back with a vengeance.  We were left to either let you succumb to the horrible death of head and neck cancer or try to surgically remove a part of your palate.  This was the last resort..  At this point there was significant brain activity and surgery was worth it, but unfortunately dementia and anesthesia aren't a good mixture.  You never really came out of the surgery.  You never really ate again or performed basic human functions.  Most painful for me is that you could no longer talk, which meant that I couldn't communicate with you.  I couldn't even talk to you on the phone.  Oh how much I wish I could've held your hand during those times.  I feel so guilty because during this time I was consumed with a high risk pregnancy and due very soon.  It was my first baby after a miscarriage-my mom was your baby after your miscarriage.  That is an amazing amount of joy to experience.  All the while thought, I knew your time was coming to a close.  That whole year was a blur to me.  So much anxiety, so many doubts and uncertainties-and to know my grandma that was so much more than a grandma to me was slowly dying halfway across the country was too much.




I so wish I could "redo" the last few years of my life, but I can't.  I didn't call you enough.  I wish I would've grown up just a little quicker to have more patience with you and to take a step back and realize what all happened to you in life that made you "you", and to love and support you for it instead of wishing you were someone else at times.  In hindsight, I wouldn't have wanted anyone else, because you were a fighter to the end, something I can all too much relate to.  I think it's in our DNA, grandma.  You just have to keep going no matter what hand life deals you.  Thank you so much for not just being a picture on the wall.  I love you and I will see you again.