Don't Waste Your One Beautiful

I Learned To Knit In 2002, Six Months After My 5-year-old Daughter, Grace, Died Suddenly From A Virulent Form Of Strep. I Was Unable To Read Or Write, And Friends Suggested I Take Up Knitting; Almost Immediately I Fell Under Its Spell.

I Was Kind Of An Outsider Growing Up, And I Preferred Reading To Being With Other Kids. When I Was About Seven, I Started To Write My Own Books. I Never Thought Of Myself As Wanting To Be A Writer-i Just Was One.

I Was A Daughterless Mother. I Had Nowhere To Put The Things A Mother Places On Her Daughter. The Nail Polish I Used To Paint Our Toenails Hardened. Our Favorite Videos Gathered Dust. Her Small Apron Was In A Box In The Attic. Her Shoes - The Sparkly Ones, The Leopard Rain Boots, The Ballet Slippers - Stood In A Corner.

In My Adult Life, I Had Spent A Lot Of Time Angry At God, Mostly Over The Sudden Deaths In My Family - My Brother At 30, My Daughter At 5.

Time Passes And I Am Still Not Through It. Grief Isn't Something You Get Over. You Live With It. You Go On On With It Lodged In You. Sometimes I Feel Like I Have Swallowed A Pile Of Stones. Grief Makes Me Heavy. It Makes Me Slow. Even On Days When I Laugh A Lot, Or Dance, Or Finish A Project, Or Meet A Deadline, Or Celebrate, Or Make Love, It Is There. Lodged Deep Inside Of Me.