Almost five years ago,
when I was undergoing
chemotherapy, my good
friend and priest Teresa
taught me to knit.
Teresa is an amazing
knitter who can dash off a
sweater in a darkened movie
theater between exposition
and denouement. I am
not that kind of knitter, but
I deeply appreciate the
meditative qualities of a
good knitting session.
In addition to teaching
me to knit and purl, she
also shared with me a book
about a group of women
who knitted prayer shawls
for people diagnosed with
cancer. Having been the
beneficiary of afghans created
by similarly philanthropic
knitters and crocheters,
I was instantly
inspired by what this
groupáwas doing.
Sometimes, when one of
the knitters began a project,
she knew who the recipient
would be. Sometimes,
a member would
start a project, and while
she was knitting, she would
learn of someone who had
received a diagnosis. Sometimes,
the knitter would
never know who would receive
the shawl.
No matter. With every
movement of the needles,
these knitters imbued their
projects with prayers for
healing and serenity and
love. When each project
was complete, the entire
group would pass it around
and say a short prayer over
it.
After learning about this
prayer practice, I immediately
went out and bought
some very cozy, comforting
chenille yarn and began a
shawl project. I worked on
it frequently, even while
sitting in my oncologist’s
clinic attached to an IV pole
getting my own chemotherapy.
Let’s just say the end
result was, um, ``folksy.’’ In
fact, my work was too crude
to inflict upon someone who
was undergoing treatment.
It would have been insult to
injury.
So I started another
piece - not as a prayer
shawl, but just as something
fun. I chose a fuzzy
eyelash yarn that blends
hot pinks, bright oranges
and purples. It doesn’t exactly
fit into my own neutral
wardrobe, but it did
match the pink wig I used
to wear when my hair
jumped ship.
I am embarrassed to say,
though, that even after
knitting on this scarf in the
waiting room during several
doctors’ appointments, I
eventually pierced the muppet-
colored ball of yarn with
the needles and relegated
the scarf to a tote bag,
where itásat in my craft
closet for almost half a decade.
I picked it up again over
the weekend, at Bee’s request,
because she wanted
to see what I had knitted. I
was amazed that I was able
to pick it up again, and relearn
the techniques - with
a little help from my daughter,
of course.
Two weeks ago, friends
from Florida, with whom I
had lost contact until just
recently, sent me a message
online asking about my
cancer experience. I hate
getting those things, because
it always means that
a friend had gotten difficult
news. This time, it was
more than difficult. It was
heart-wrenching.
My friends’ 15-year-old
daughter was scheduled to
undergo a biopsy for an enlarged
lymph node. Her pediatrician
had predicted a
50/50 chance for Hodgkin’s
Disease.
Last week, Emilie, whom
I have not seen since she
was around 4, was diagnosed
with cancer. Over the
weekend, her parents posted
a photo of her to a care
page so friends far and near
can keep up with the latest
news. In the photo, she has
a stripe of hair dyed bright
orange to match her soccer
jersey.
I saw the photo as I sat
at my kitchen table knitting
with my little girl, and
I knew instantly who would
receive the scarf that was
five years in the making.
I did not know, when I
chose that bright yarn so
many years ago, who would
receive this scarf. And I
hate like anything that I
have the opportunity to
send it. But every single
loop is bound with prayers
and wishes for healing, and
they’re headed in Emilie’s
direction.
Elizabeth Trever Buchinger
has had just about
enough out of you, Cancer.
You can connect with her
and other readers at www.
moremindfulfamily.wordpress.
com or email her at
VillageWordsmith@gmail.
com.
This Wonderful Life
February 19, 2009
This Wonderful Life
A prayer with moving hands
- This Wonderful Life
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- This Wonderful Life: I can say No, but I prefer Yes If popular culture is any indication, it seems women suffer from an epidemic inability to refuse additional responsibilities. Magazines, self-help books and therapists nationwide offer heaps of advice on how to assert oneself, draw boundaries and generally say No when asked to sign on for those things for which we have little time and less interest.
- This Wonderful Life: I wish someone had told me Disclaimer: Because my son more or less demanded that I stop using him and his life as material for my column back when he was 12 or 13, I want to make it perfectly clear to all my readers (and any legal professionals who are now retained or may be retained at some future time by aforementioned son) that this column is not about him. It’s about me. The fact that he happened to turn 21 on Saturday is mere coincidence. So help me God.
- This Wonderful Life: A view through bare branches Every morning, Bee and I stand at the end of the driveway waiting for her bus and we look up into the branches of the elm tree that arches over the drive.
- This Wonderful Life: To Posey on her fourth So here we are, on the other side of 3-years-old, and it seems we both survived it intact. It wasn’t easy, but perhaps it made us both stronger.
- This Wonderful Life: A Posey by any other name... A few weeks ago, Posey gave us all new names. Or, to be more accurate, Posey gave us all one new name. Rose.
- This Wonderful Life: Are pork chops really that good? If it seems unlikely for a vegetarian (that would be me) to own a couple of table- bound pigs, it probably seems downright absurd that their names should be Tender and Delicious.
- This Wonderful Life: I sssssseeeeeee you there The first thing you should know is that I used to suffer from a snake phobia. The operative word there is phobia. It wasn’t just a matter of disliking snakes. It wasn’t a fear of being bitten. It wasn’t a simple reluctance to touch their impossibly dry, nimble bodies.
- This Wonderful Life: What’s so funny? My kids, I hope In my experience as a three-time parent, there is something absolutely, spiritually magical about the first time your child cracks a joke.
- This Wonderful Life: Who are these little girls? There are two children in my house who bear a striking resemblance to my daughters. They are adorable, smart and energetic.
- This Wonderful Life: A harvest that’s good for the soul Signs of harvest are all around. The afternoon sun glows amber over the fields and the farm stands are filled to overflowing with vegetables and fruit. We’re lucky to live in a place where we can have such an immediate connection to the food we eat.
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