She was babysitting me while my parents were in the hospital. Sitting together, with some light music on in the background, she patiently showed me some basic stitches. I was in awe of what we created together. The thought of making a blanket, all by myself, was so cool. I was thrilled to show off my new skills to my parents. As I got older, I noticed a doll that was always on my grandmother's bed
. Of course, being a kid, I wasn't allowed in her bedroom. So I would sit in the door frame, crocheting a blanket, and stare at the doll. I yearned to hold and play with that doll. After weeks of lusting after that gorgeous doll with its bountiful pink dress and bonnet, my grandmother finally let me hold her. Her face and hands were made of porcelain. Her features were hand painted. A few years later, I would learn that my grandmother had crocheted her beautiful dress. Fast forward to high school. My grandmother had fallen ill. We knew that it wouldn't be long until she joined my grandfather in heaven. Visiting her in the hospital, which was the last time I saw her, she gave me the doll. From that moment on, I knew that I was going to crochet for the rest of my life. I wanted to make beautiful pieces in her memory. I wanted to learn different stitches. I wanted to continue to crochet. This is my memory of her.
