My mom made this blanket with her hands.
This is meaningful alone, but this fall she broke her hand, and somehow she still created it for me. She worked on it every morning for weeks, slowly but surely. She started it over a few times because she didn’t think it was good enough. She was in physical therapy and couldn’t move her fingers most of the time, but she created this for me anyways.
It practically glows, which might be the yarn she chose, or maybe the very blanket itself knows it was made in love and comes alive to that.
It makes me cry every time i think about it too long or too hard.
I’ve been thinking so much about motherhood and birth lately — not specifically, but conceptually — about what it means to give of yourself in order to give life. To sacrifice your own body and give breath to another. To offer up and break for someone else.
I think of all the mothers that give up their very being for their children, and yet whose children will never hesitate to ask for more.
I think of love presented in a thousand different ways, I think of the way we consume it, not bothering to even chew or taste or appreciate.
I think of the way the earth gives us life and yet we take, take, take, always demanding more, refusing to even pause and give thanks.
I think of the way we talk to god, demanding our idea of fairness for ourselves because we have decided that he created a transactional universe in which we deserve no pain, but people in systems of pain are considered “others” and ignored.
I have consumed this gift of life and so many other gifts so blindly, not always taking into account what has been given up for me. I have used and taken and grabbed for what I felt I needed. I have acted as though by existing I deserved something from the world and those around me, not knowing that my very existence was a gift given to me by someone who sacrificed breath and body and career and god knows what else simply to pour life into my life.
And so I am grateful for this blanket and this love and this everything that was given to me, and I pray that I take less for granted each day that I exist.