Saturday morning I had a dream about trying to continue with a very large and complicated piece of crochet. Being unable to pickup the stitch where I’d left off sometime before (weeks, months, years?), I ripped the stitching back, repeatedly, in an attempt to pick it up again. It wasn’t that I was unable to crochet, it’s that I couldn’t remember what my intention had been. In trying to find the vision of the piece, whole sections of fabric came away. The further I tore, the more colorful and faceted the work became, falling in a pile around me.
Whether this dream was a metaphor for my mother’s life, or my own, trying to find my path again now that the biggest task post getting mom into care is almost complete, I do not know. Maybe it’s both!