My grandmother passed away recently.
When we went to the funeral, there was a day where we went to her assisted living room to clean up everything. It was a bittersweet experience, because I had visited her many times in that place and remembered sitting in the chair beside her bed talking to her, and in that moment I was emptying the room to make it ready for someone else in the future. It felt strange.
But as I was helping my aunt clean up and pack things in boxes and bags, I came upon a small purple piece of fabric that I immediately recognized. It was the blanket I had made her ten years ago, when I had just gotten into crochet, and had made it into my very first pattern that I posted on this blog.
It was faded in many spots, a sign of love and use, and I remembered when looking at the faded spots that she used to leave it on the patio in one of her chairs where the sun hit it just right and she and my grandfather could look out at the garden and talk. It was a little coarse, as if she hadn't wanted to wash it in case it would get ruined, and somehow that didn't result in a bad smell, because it still had the soft scent of their patio.
Of course, I took it home with me and it now has a place of importance in my home office, and someday it will hopefully become a baby blanket.
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