Knitting Mittens - A Haibun

When she called to tell me – it was confirmed – she had dementia, the morning sky, from my window, suddenly morphed, before my eyes, to black and grey – the day ripped to rags in fuming clouds … as my world, quietly, tore asunder. 

From the phone I heard her voice – brittle and stiff – say:  the news is not good ... looks like,  I have  Early Stage Alzheimer’s ... makes a strange kind of sense, doesn’t it ... with everything ... and all … but, I don’t want to talk about it now … just thought, I’d call to say ... I have dementia, and she giggled – somewhat strained, I thought, but still:  in that lovely breeze on-wind-chime way she has.

I said, I would come to her – but she said no, not now.  She had something she
wanted to do, alone – something she wanted to get started on.  And she told me that she needed to knit.  She had knitted by her mother's side, when she was a young girl and she needed to feel her mother near her.  She needed to knit and shoo away "the dark clouds" with memories.   And as long as she could do that – a few stitches – every day – it would be a splendid day, and she giggled again ... and whispered:  I'm going to knit you mittens, to help keep you warm when winter comes – as she hung up the phone. 

stitches ... knit ... purl … 
a lifetime of moments – 
beneath a splendid  sky
 

note:

purl (v) to knit yarn with a purl stitch.
the intertwisting of thread that knots a stitch, usually along an edge.
to flow or ripple with a murmuring stream.

photo: Knitting Mittens – W. Bourke 

© 2015 Wendy Bourke