Kiss My Knits!

Pat’s memorial service was lovely. It was nice to see so many GM faces, although obviously we all wished it had been under better circumstances. The service was literally standing room only. I’m terrible at judging numbers, but I’d say there were seats for sixty, with at least another twenty people standing in the back of the room.

Pat was a quilter, and she had been working on a lap robe for her mother. Apparently her friends had taken the incomplete robe and finished it, and they presented it to her mom at the service. There was quite a response when it was unfolded with a flourish to show the gathering. It’s not often you hear the crowd go “oooooh” at a funeral. It was an absolutely gorgeous affair of diagonal V-stripes in predominantly blue tones. I know I’m not the only one who teared up when it was given to her mother. It reminded me of how the folded flag that had covered my grandfather’s coffin was passed to my uncle. In this way, I suppose, do fallen crafters pass.

There was another finished quilt at the front of the room for us to go up and see after the service. Of course I knew Pat quilted, but I’d never seen anything she’d done before. It was stunning. I should have known she’d be an ace quilter. It was amazing to trace the stitches with my fingers. I can sew just enough to know how good her work is.

After the service, the thoughtful brought over Pat’s mother. It was easy to see where Pat got her smile and sense of humor. Pat’s mom said something that took me completely by surprise.

Apparently Pat had been working on a quilt for me. Her family had passed it to someone to finish up, and they were going to be quite sure that it got to me. It might be a while, of course, since it was in someone else’s hands now, but Pat’s quilt would come to me.

Later, when I spoke to her son, he told me the same thing. I have to assume that Pat felt strongly about this if there were multiple people in the family seeing to it.

I had no idea. I had no idea she was working on something for me. Leave it to Pat. To say I was touched would be an understatement.

I’m sure she was doing this for several reasons. For one, nobody can appreciate a handcrafted item like another crafter. I’ve had people ask why they should pay $36 for a hat when they can get one at WalMart for $5. I’ve knitted very nice sweaters for babies and the parents never acknowledged receipt, even after I directly asked. And I’ve had complete strangers ask if I would knit them a pair of socks, even after I’ve explained that 40+ hours of labor goes into each one. A crafter would never ask these questions. Someone who works with her hands understands the value of skilled labor. Pat knew that I would treasure not just the gesture of the gift, but the gift itself.

Crafting is something we shared, and I know that also played a part in this. Although I didn’t quilt, I understood what she got out of it. The zen calm of losing yourself in a project, the triumph of mastering a new skill, and the satisfaction of having made something beautiful with your own two hands. When she talked about quilting, I got it. And she got it when I talked about knitting.

I had made her two chemo caps. One a little blue number, and the other the lovely red alpaca affair pictured. She wrote me, laughing, to say that no way was she wearing the blue one after that post, but the red one was her new favorite, displacing the polar fleece hat she’d been wearing. I was pleased. Maybe that’s when she decided to do it. Or maybe it was after she got the labyrinth I sent her. Or maybe… well, I’ll never know. She thought of me, when she had so many other things going on in her life, and I’m honored.

Every night since the service, I’ve dreamed about that quilt. Was she making it out of the batik fabric that I sent her? Was it from the “Chocolat” mini fabric sampler tin that I got her for Christmas 2006? Was it fabric she picked up in Wake Forest going to the Raleigh craft fest? In my dreams, I picture it small because I hate to think of her taking too much time. She had a lot on her plate.

I think the reason my subconscious – and, based on the length of this post, my conscious – is so taken with this is that it’s a remaining physical link between us. There’s a gift that Pat has yet to give. It’s as if she’s still out there, stitching away. Foolish, I know, but it makes me wish I could talk to her, just once more. I’ll never get to thank her for this.

The quilt is in someone else’s hands now, and so her family and I are at that person’s mercy. I can’t imagine that a gift for a complete stranger is at the top of their priority list. And as a crafter, I understand that too.

It may be a long time before I receive my friend’s gift. But I can wait.