She has a brain tumor (actually, she had one, it is now removed and she is recovering). Her mother works at CubeSpace, which is how I know her. She has a generally positive prognosis, which is great, but we want to do all we can to support the family through this tough time. So I do what I can. I pray and I knit.
I’m not sure how much I believe that prayer has the power to make a difference in the material world. I’m pretty sure it helps the sick person to know that someone is praying for them, but I’m not sure I believe that God will send more or less healing to an individual based on my prayers. I’m not sure that God won’t either. So I pray.
And I knit. I knit because it is a concrete act of caring. Making a hat for a little girl out of the softest yarn (alpaca, merino and silk blend) feels like a concrete way to help. Eva bakes, I knit. And as I knit I think about how I want the hat to warm her as she heals, and on through her life. It’s a knit hat, and children’s heads aren’t that much smaller than adult heads, so I’m hoping it will continue to fit her into adulthood. As I knit, I wondered (hoped) it would become a favorite, something that might see her through good times in life as well as this tough time. It’s blue–maybe she’ll use it for her “something blue” in a hypothetical wedding at some point in the future.
As I knit the hat I tried to knit in all the good thoughts I could. I tried to knit in prayers for healing. If will alone could make a hat an instrument of healing, this hat would be one. As it is, this little girl and her two mommies have lot’s of will, and I hope that the hat will keep her warm, feel like love, and, maybe, convey a little of the Divine presence.