My unfinished art

Last week my dear friend K and I briefly talked about the items we had made - or started to make - for our babies. It was then that I was reminded of one of my many uncompleted projects stashed in my bedroom closet: Ryan's baby blanket.

Over the last 15 years, I have made no less than a dozen crocheted blankets for friends and family and their new bundles of joy. I even made two back-to-back for a set of twins; I used mauve and burgundy yarn and simply inverted the pattern so the blankets would obviously be a matched set.

Tonight I decided to venture into my closet and peek into the bag that I had thoughtlessly discarded after Ryan's death. When I came home from the hospital mid-August, I was eager to quickly dispose of those things that brought back painful memories of what I had just been through.

I hadn't so much as looked in that bag since Ryan's birth - the bag that contains baby blue, cream, and navy blue crocheted squares. I remember stuffing the skeins of yarns into my hospital bag, making certain that my crochet needle didn't get lost in the sea of birthing books and baby supplies that I took to the hospital. I was anxious to crochet a few squares while awaiting my baby boy's arrival; I figured I'd have some time to kill before my labor progressed to the point that crocheting would be the furthest thing from my mind. I never got to that point though. Ryan's birthday happened so quickly and made such a sharp, unexpected turn for the worse that I didn't have the opportunity or desire to make even one additional square.

It was the strangest thing when I looked in that bag and ran my hand over the soft, fuzzy yarn. I realized that Ryan will never get to nuzzle his chubby cheeks against the cottony-softness of that blanket I was so proudly making. I'll never get to swaddle his tiny body and rock him to sleep in the blanket that was his and his alone. Instead, it's just an abandoned pile of crocheted squares - they could be drink coasters to those unfamiliar with yarn-art! - and a reminder of what was dreamed and never came to be.

Just like that blanket, there is so much of me that will always be incomplete and unfinished. I feel like I, too, am the project that was pushed aside and forgotten - never to be finished due to tragic and sad circumstances.