Lee Gant - Love in Every Stitch: Stories of Knitting and Healing

Love in Every Stitch

Love in Every Stitch

Stories of Knitting and Healing

Lee Gant

Copyright 2015 by Lee Gant.

All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, television, or online reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Published in the United States by Viva Editions, an imprint of Start Midnight, LLC, 375 Hudson Street, Twelfth Floor, New York, New York 10014.

Printed in the United States.

Cover design: Scott Idleman/Blink Design

Cover photograph: C Squared Studios/Getty Images

Text design: Frank Wiedemann

First Edition.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Trade paper ISBN: 978-1-63228-018-3

E-book ISBN: 978-1-63228-029-9

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Gant, Lee.

Love in every stitch : stories of knitting and healing / Lee Gant.

pages cm

ISBN 978-1-63228-018-3 (paperback)

1. Knitting--Therapeutic use. 2. Knitting--Psychological aspects.

I. Title.

RM735.7.K54G36 2015

746.432--dc23

2015002768

table of contents

foreword

I SPENT MANY TROUBLED years standing in front of the mirror with my face pressed close to the glass, peering into each pupil, trying to see all the way into myself. But there was always something blocking my view, like a piece of paper, something dark. I wanted to believe that there was a good person living inside of me, but I didnt know how to connect to her.

For years I betrayed myself, acting out and doing bad things. It took a great deal for me to believe that I belonged somewhere in this world, that I was worthy, and that my behaviors could be forgiven. My only choices became death or jail or change. Eventually, alcohol and drugs brought me to my knees, and it was then that knitting saved my life.

Knitting gave me a choice to do something different. I found direction and purpose and the capacity to share. I found accomplishment, self-worth, and success.

I still have anxieties, but when I look in the mirror today, the block is gone. There are times when I falter, but when I do, I know how to get back on track. I knit.

To those of you who already knit and crochet, I hope youll teach someone else, because you never know whose life you might save.

To those of you who dont, I hope some of these stories of hope, sharing, and second chances will inspire you to learn.

All you have to do is ask.

introduction

Sunshine Is a Color

THE BRIGHTNESS OF THE sun scrunches my face, and rainbow-colored sparklers spin behind my eyes. A jackhammer pounds its rat-tat-tat into the back of my head. Hungover and nauseous, I need to focus: walk through the field to the 7-Eleven, get cigarettes, and get home. A dry-mouth thirst pushes me on. I desperately need a soda.

Warmth spills onto the sidewalk and wraps its radiance around me. I look through an open doorway and see colors splashing like flying paint.

Hello! A womans voice startles me. Would you like to come in?

I squint to see an unexpected smile widening on a pleasant face connected to an exceptionally large body. Still unable to stand up straight, I muster a hello, suddenly embarrassed to be caught wearing the sweats that I slept in. I need to get cigarettes, but her wide smile and warm invitation has me looking past her large girth and into the store. The bright colors and the scent of sheeps wool pull me in.

How long have you been here? I ask, stepping out of the sunshine. Couldnt be long, I think, because I would have noticed a new store.

We opened last week, the woman says. My name is Carol. My daughter, Shawnee, will be here soon. Come in, come in.

Nice to meet you, Im Lee. Funny, my first name is Carol, too, which is good because Ill be able to remember hers. Im terrible at remembering names.

A young woman enters the store. By the size of her and her pleasant smile, she must be Carols daughter. She gives her mother a hug.

This is my daughter, Shawnee. Carol keeps her arm around the woman, and the warmth of their relationship is obvious. An ache wells in my heart and I clutch my flannel shirt and try to remember when my mother might have hugged me like that.

I cant.

Hi, Im Lee. My stomach growls and although Im less nauseous, I dont have the energy to have a conversation about Shawnees unusual name, so I dont ask.

Shawnee and Carol encourage me to look around while they settle at the old round oak table by the large front window. They knit while I explore the rest of the long narrow store. The shelves explode with tangles of textures and colors. Magenta catches my eye and I pull a skein from its crammed cubby, press it hard to my nose and inhale, exhaleand inhale again, letting the smell take me to a placeI cant quite put my finger on ita place of comfort long forgotten. For a few minutes, Im lost in it, and the cigarettes, soda, and sickness disappear.

Were getting ready for lunch, Carol says. Would you like something from the deli next door? I remove the yarn from under my nose when I realize that shes talking to me.

Uh, no thanks, Ive already eaten, I lie.

I dont have enough money. Im too sick to eat, and

my brain is screaming for nicotine. I might scrounge enough change from the bottom of my purse for a soda when I get to the store, but that can wait because I really want to stay here. Its Tuesday. My kids are in school but I dont have to pick them up. During the week they live with their father so I can get myself together.

Truth is, Im in more trouble because Im falling apart without them.

Ive never seen so much beautiful stuff, I say, running both hands up and down each row of perfectly organized yarn in a circular motion, soothing so much more than my cracked fingertips. I want to touch it all.

Take your time and look around, Carol says. Shawnee nods her head. The deli is just next door, well be right back. What lucktheyve trusted me to be in the store alone. How stupid is that? I steal things.

The cover of a Knitters magazine tossed on the table by the window catches my eye. I sift through page after page of beautiful colors and textures of sweater after sweater. I want to make every one of them and be every girl on every page. I think about how to get the magazine into my purse, but change my mind. Something about stealing from this store feels wrong. Now, thats a first.

I cant leave yet with no one else in the store, and as long as Im here, the cubbies of comfort call out for one more visit. Then, Carol and Shawnee, along with a friend, shuffle in from the deli next door with enough food to feed an army.

This is our good friend, Judy, Carol says. Come and sit with us.

Reluctant to leave the yarn, I join them at the table. Napkins and plastic utensils fly out of the paper bag, followed by sandwich after sandwich. Whos gonna eat all this? Im surprised when Carol places a giant sandwich with a napkin, fork, potato salad, and a large fountain soda in front of me.