The Process of Knitting with Mom

"My mind isn't what it used to be, I forget things" is something my mother frequently tells me when she's frustrated that she can't remember an event, a person, what she had for breakfast that morning, or more recently, how to describe a fountain that she had just seen. I can't even imagine what it's like to know something is wrong, but not know what.

As I've mentioned before, the 'what' is Alzheimer's and because of our history of a loved one with this disease, I don't think we've ever used the word Alzheimer's with my mom, at least I know I haven't. What would be the point of telling my mom why she 'forgets' things? It's not going away. It's not going to get better.

And yet, in the midst of all this, I am amazed at what still resides in her memory ... like knitting. 

I don't remember my mom being an avid knitter when I was growing up.  I know she knit out of necessity - mittens, hats. At this point I have no way of asking her when she learned to knit, or who taught her. And I'm pretty sure she didn't teach me. Knitting was not something you saw my mom do often. If she was knitting, it was because something needed to be knit. 

It was product, not process, that drove the knitting.

Fast forward to the present. My mom knits. 

Constantly. 

Ask her why and she'll tell you it's because she has always enjoyed knitting. It makes her happy and keeps her busy. 

At this point, it's process that's important more than the product. 

Because the product is ... well ... um ... we're not entirely sure.

She casts on as many stitches as the needle will hold and then just knits, dropping stitches as she goes, randomly adding others. In the end what you have is a skein of yarn that has become rows and rows of garter stitch but not much else. Except that it has made her happy to work with pretty yarn, and she's content in the belief she's doing something useful. 

Often, when I visit, we sit and unwind what she's knit. She holds the knitted piece, I wind the ball. When I ask why we were doing it, she just smiled and says "Because we're having fun." To her, just being with me, sharing the time, is what is important now. It has become part of the process.

So while she forgets people, places, and events from her past, for now she remembers me and she remembers knitting. I visit, we sit, we knit. And sometimes we rip out and rewind what she's knit, but that's ok. 

It's part of the process ...

And we're having fun.

What Does K-N-I-T spell? Community! (StitchesMidwest Part 1)

SQUEEEE - that's my experience at Stitches Midwest in one word. One made up word, but one word none-the-less.

What an experience and what a community!  I'm thrilled to be a part of both.

It began with a five hour ride with two of my enablers friends from the local yarn store. I don't think the conversation stopped the entire time and made the five hours fly. Am I wrong?

Then there was the Market. Major Squeeee! We entered (one with a color coded map and attack plan, one with some ideas of vendors to visit, and one who basically said "whatever") and were bombarded with the sight (and dare I say smell?) of yarn. Gorgeous yarn. LOTS OF IT! And not your everyday, 'I can get this at the local store', yarn. These were independent dyers who loved to tell you what their inspiration was for a particular colorway or why they used the base they did. I've been to trade shows where employees hawk the corporate wares, but this was a room full of passion. From the yarn, to the hand-thrown yarn bowls, the hand-carved drop spindles, the felted stitch markers and the custom made project bags (to name just a few.)

A community of passionate people who loved what they did. How many of us can say that on a daily basis?

And their passion was (ummm...) contagious...  

(So contagious that one of us walked around the market, for three days, with a broken toe. Not once complaining, even when the other two of us winced at how painful it looked. Perhaps a study on using yarn as a non-narcotic pain medication is needed. What am I saying?! Yarn is addictive!)

Then there were the connections...

Many times the topic of using an acrylic yarn would come up and I'd mention it was the only yarn I gave my mother to knit with. Since this isn't a yarn most of us knit with (see descriptions of market above), there were questioning looks as to why I'd do that to my mom. Tell them it's due to the dementia, and the stories of others dealing, or having dealt, with the same come pouring out. Like the story of the mother, with Alzheimer's, who in her last days, had all of her daughters come and knit with and around her — one last time.

Connections that we all had a story. Connections that we all used knitting to get us through the hard times. Connections that showed us we're not alone.

No matter where you sat, if there were other knitters near, an easy conversation started. "Where are you from?" "What are you working on?" "I've been wanting to make that, would you be willing to help?" "Did you see glass stitch markers in the market?" and the ever popular "What did you buy?"

Connections that make a community.

A community that also includes its own set of rock stars. Yes, there are knitting celebrities. Yes, some of them have egos. No, I didn't meet any of them. Yes, I did try to act normal nonchalant around Franklin Habit and impress him with my creativity (I kind of failed on both accounts, except when I used my Hershey kisses to improvise as the square tiles we were using to create designs. I hated telling him it wasn't so much creativity as it was laziness to get up and get two more tiles. But he took a picture of it because he thought it was cute. This was not how I had intended to impress him.)

All in all, I had a blast. I came home with a few souvenirs (did you not see the picture?), new, as well, as deepened connections with other knitters, and new knowledge about my craft and myself - but more on that later. 

I have a yarn hangover. SQUEEEE!

Alzheimer's, It Giveth and Taketh Away

There are two women in my life who's strength, patience and love are something I wish I could emulate. I try, but they are a tough act to follow.

Aunt Nancy, Marilyn and my mom

While there are a lot of reasons to admire them, it has been their ability to remain calm, in the face of a loved one with Alzheimer's, that leaves me speechless. And not just with one person, but two. So while the disease robbed one, and is now robbing another, loved one of their memories, it has given me two women who have taught (and continue to teach) me a great deal.

Marilyn
In 1975 my grandfather remarried after my grandmother passed away. I wasn't sure how I felt about it at the time. I worshiped my grandmother and, as the oldest grandchild, always sensed I occupied a special place in her heart. But I love Marilyn, she had been a part of the family for as long as I could remember, and she loved my grandfather. Of that I have no doubt. What should have then been years of them growing old together, became years of Marilyn dealing with my grandpa's decent into Alzheimer's, devoted to him until the end. And while, in the beginning I wasn't ready to let someone else fill my grandmother's shoes, I have always felt that my grandfather and our family were blessed to have Marilyn be a part of it then, and now.

Aunt Nancy
My mom and my aunt, both widowed, decided to sell their individual houses and jointly build one in 2003. They were living alone, I was 300 miles away. The grand plan was for them to travel, quilt, craft, entertain and enjoy keeping each other company. In 2006 it was becoming obvious that my mom was losing her short term memory. She told people she'd had mini strokes. The sad reality? CAT scans showed there were no strokes ... dementia was setting in. And my aunt slowly became less of a companion to my mom, and more of a caregiver. I've watched her, over the past few years, trying everything she could to keep a sense of normality as well as slow the process that was ravaging my mom's brain. All this while her sons began families and her dream of becoming a grandmother came true.

I don't know how she did it. I really don't. I've spent weeks with my mom while my aunt traveled. It wore me out.  More mentally and emotionally than physically, although I'm not going to say there wasn't a physical response to the mental and emotional strain.  And that was only one week at a time, or a few days here and there. But otherwise, I could be in my remote bubble, 300 miles south, and not focus on what was happening with my mom.

Until now.

Recently I moved my mom closer to me. To a facility where she is comfortable and well taken care of. I did it so I could see her more. I did it so my aunt could focus on her five grandchildren (number six is on the way) and herself. I did it so I wouldn't feel as powerless as my mom slipped further and further into the past. But unlike Marilyn and Aunt Nancy, I have the 'luxury' of knowing that a skilled staff is caring for my mom between my visits.

So there you have it - four women, all affected by Alzheimer's, although only three of us remember. A husband, father, grandfather, and now a sister, dear friend and mother. I look at my aunt and Marilyn and use them as a model when I think I can't cope with my mom.

Someday, I hope to have the patience and strength they've shown. But that's a tall order and I have a long way to go. In the meantime, they get filed in the box, in my brain, labeled "Heroes."

What a Tangled Mess...

Sometimes all you can do is pick up the tangled mess and try to decide what you should do about it.  Is it worth salvaging?  Would it be better to just toss it and start fresh?  Is the effort time well spent?  In the end, did you come out with something useful, or is it merely an untangled mess?

Lately I'm not sure if this is about yarn or life ... my life  

I have spent a great deal of time, recently, trying to make sense of a number of things.  Often it's the massive knot that somehow my mother's yarn has become.  She claims it's gremlins in the middle of the night.  If that's the case, they need a new hobby, or at least someone else to pick on for awhile.  But it's surprising how determined (nay, some might say stubborn) I get to prove that I AM smarter than the yarn, and I WILL NOT be defeated by the yarn.  If it became tangled, it can become untangled!  I SHALL BE victorious!

Score so far?  Yarn 2, Leslie 3  You know, people stare when you hold aloft a neatly wound ball of yarn and do a happy dance.  I guess not everyone takes untangling yarn as seriously as I do.  Most don't understand why I take it so seriously — it's just yarn, right?

And as I work with the tangles and knots, my mom looks at me and says "you want it, take it."

Here's the thing, I don't want it.

I just want to feel that I have some semblance of control — over something — even if it's only a ball of gremlin knotted yarn.

And now we're back to life ... my life  

An adult child moves out, a child-like adult moves closer.  When you finally think your parenting days are over, you find yourself playing that role with your parent.  A parent that doesn't understand the shift because parts of her brain have become as tangled as the yarn, and it's out of my control.

So my tangled mess is no longer made of yarn but the threads of everyday life.  And those original questions don't apply.  That the only option is to make sure it's time well spent as I try to loosen the knots, figure out what goes where, and wonder how it got like this.

I'm pretty sure it's not gremlins.