The Never Finished Object

Thursday afternoon last week I got a call from my sister. Our mom had a heart attack Tuesday night in her home and had died. When she didn't go in to work Wednesday or Thursday, and didn't call in, her coworkers got worried and called the police. They went and found her.

The last several days have been very surreal. My mom was only 53 years old, and we fully expected to have plenty more years of driving each other crazy. Her mom - my grandmother - died just over two years ago, so we figured we had plenty more time to mend fences, bury axes, build bridges, that whole business.

In the past few years I've been knitting, I had never found quite the right project to knit for her. I'd come close a few times, but never could quite find something that seemed truly appropriate. So I waited until I did.

Now I never will.

I thought about knitting something small to put in with her, and even got as far as casting on and knitting a couple inches worth. But it just didn't seem quite right. And then I ran out of time to work on it any further, so I wound up just letting it go.

I've cried about a lot of things over the past few days, but I think that was one of the first realizations that came out of no where and really socked me in the gut. I've had many more since then, and probably have many many more to go.