September 7 – “Crochet and Casting”

It was quite a gut-wrenching adjustment for the dear Queen Mother to make, for her own castle in the adjoining grounds had also been heavily damaged.  But because of her increasing age and decreasing health she had consented to join the Queen as part now of the most intimate royal family.  Sadly, her home and the adjoining lands were released to be inhabited by a new young knight, just starting on his own quest.  It was difficult to be so close – within sight every day – yet to know she could not return.  Memories of a long and happy quest centered in that structure.  It marked the beginning of a new phase of the quest she was a part of, together with her own king, so many years before.  She looked and saw her own dear King, long ago parted from her physical presence in death, but never departed from her heart.  She looked and saw three young princes.  Her own Queen Mother.  Yea, even two Queen Mothers at the same time within the walls, living out their lives under its protection.  She looked and saw dear friends in castles nearby, opening their lives to each other in a bond that through the years moved beyond friendship.  She looked and saw survival – through great storms of the past pounding from without and great struggles of life and love throbbing from within.  She looked and saw days of sadness and grief, and days of joy and much mirth.  She looked and saw holiday gatherings with tables brimming with provisions and faces glistening with tears, for only so much joy can be expended through laughter.   And those who loved her deeply and wanted those memories to remain cherished forever, decided to honor her in a special way.  They commissioned an aspiring young artist to capture the spirit of the dwelling in a painting, which even now hangs in a place of honor in her new room in her new home.   Chris and I discovered we had something else in common.  Her Mom was crocheting a little baby blanket yesterday.  She worked diligently on it for several minutes as we sat nearby and talked.  Then Chris noticed that she had begun to pull out the stitches she had just worked so hard to complete.  Chris went over to the bed and asked if she needed some help.  She insisted all was well.  As Chris returned to her seat at the table, tears were welling up in her eyes.  Quietlt she whispered, "That's what breaks my heart.  She has tried to crochet on that blanket and she keeps falling asleep.  The last two rows look like it, too."    That comment sent me into instant flashback mode.  I remembered back to one of the times I took my Dad night fishing at a friend's house right on the Bay.  This was some time after his Alzheimer's had begun to attack him, and he had been getting progressively worse.  I thought maybe taking him fishing would be fun.  After all, fishing was literally his life for years.  He ran a deep sea fishing boat with my Grandfather.  And I remember when I was just a kid, he and I would often get into his little boat and head out for a few hours of fishing or shrimping.  He was most assuredly my hero when it came to fishing.  He taught me everything I know about fishing except one thing: how to tie that elusive knot that holds the hook on the line no matter how big the fish is.  I never could get it right as a kid.  That knowledge came to me from the very friend who owned the house we visited that night.  Dad did fine for he first thirty minutes or so.  We caught some trout and enjoyed the silence together.  We never did say a whole lot while fishing.  Guess that went back to the old days when he would tell us to stay quiet or we'd scare the fish away.  And then I saw that look come over his face.  It was like he was no longer in there.  And when that happened, I never knew what he was going to say or do next.  This time he made a cast and got a really bad backlash on the reel.  He looked at it for a long time without doing anything.  Finally I went over to him and asked if I could help.  He never said a word.  He just handed me the rod and reel and gave me the little hint of a grin that showed at least a part of him was still in there somewhere.  I smiled back and handed him my rig, which I had already cast out.  He was fine with that.  And the rest of that excursion I did the casting from both of us.    And I remembered thinking something eerily similar to Chris' "That's what breaks my heart."  A sad thing to have in common?  Perhaps.  But I sure felt close to her right then.   Psalms 34:18 says, "The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."   Father, I sure needed to hear that today.  Close.  You are.  Amen.