Every time I pick up my knitting needles I give thanks to my Grandmother for teaching me to knit. In those few seconds I feel closer to her than I have in well over a decade. She suffered from Alzheimer's disease for so long that I cannot remember the last time she called me by my name. The gulf between us grew wider just as I was coming into adulthood. and looking for answers that she was no longer capable of giving. How could such a fiercely independent woman find solace in the Church that I viewed as misogynist? She died without ever giving me the answer. But the gifts she left me are cherished - my smile, my own fierce independence, and the joy I find in picking up a pair of needles.
I cannot imagine a better inheritance.
Blessed be.
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