In The Name of Love

Something understood.

That the actions of knitting and spinning soothe the soul. That the feel of natural fibres wrapped around you is like being enveloped in tenderness. That the hours of time and skill that cherishes a hand knit into existence pours your inmost being into something tangible. The language of stitch and pattern connecting you to the past and taking you into the future; to remind you of those gone before, to hand on to those yet to be. The capacity of something handmade to say I love you


With the spring sunshine and warm dry day it is time to turn out the items made painstakingly one by one and gently wash them, block them, air them. Turning them under your fingers they recall the time of their birth; the thoughts you had whilst creating. The tears and laughter, the lessons learned stitch by stitch, inch by inch…


The garments that looked after me during the cold months and cwtched me in their warmth are now given their turn to be cared for. Old friends. Yarns I created and fibres given to me by those I care about. Memories woven into every stitch.


I linger over one…

A shawl spun and knit unknowingly at the close of an era. Worn during dark days of pain and confusion. Wrapped in it’s warmth and the lingering scent of a love slipping away, hiding my breaking heart.

Standing as an emblem for the essence of something beyond my grasp into something I can touch, it reminds and comforts. Something so small, so insignificant, so fleeting, so evocative.

Memento mori …


Like an echo, a lullaby, faint and sweet: …Though the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep,
Ocean’s a royal bed

Something that whispers I am with you

I love you. I miss you. I am with you still.


2 Replies to “In The Name of Love”

  1. Beautiful words……..that will resonate with many people. A worthwhile project I have come across is to make baby blankets – knitted/quilted/crocheted – for still born babies to be wrapped in. The mother can then take the blanket home with her if she wishes. I would have really appreciated that kind gesture when I lost mine. Twelve years on and reading your words I am thinking I may now be strong enough to give this gift to another grieving mother.
    Gaynor Graves

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