More yarn... Mom's yarn

My mother taught 4-H members how to crochet at our house in the 1970's. Mom was very patient and kind to her students. I, on the other hand, was bored and whiny. I did my best to be disruptive during their gatherings, but my mom somehow managed to teach me a thing or two about using a crochet hook for productive purposes. With her guidance, I even managed to achieve a blue ribbon at the county fair for a three-piece set of matching potholders I stitched.

Did I mention that my right-handed mom had the additional challenge of teaching this daughter left-handed? We both were very proud of that.

Mom was very generous with her time and her yarn. Whenever I got stuck on a project, she helped me figure it out. If I just wanted to fiddle around, she'd let me use whatever yarn she had that wasn't part of another project. She seemed to know how to do any kind of stitch even if she had never used it before.

I don't remember ever NOT having some crochet project going at any time in my life after that. So, when I moved to Wisconsin more than 20 years ago, one of Mom's crochet hooks was stowed away in my stuff. (I'm not sure I had her permission for that. Sh!)

The last time Mom came to visit Wisconsin was last October. And she brought me yarn. She and I huddled excitedly over the nine skeins of baby yarn as she unpacked it. I already had two large wicker baskets full of yarn, so I tried to convince her take some of my yarn in return, but she wouldn't have any of it.
She and Dad were barely rounding Chicago on their way home to Michigan by the time I looped this new yarn onto my hook to begin the baby blanket forming in my head.

My mom died this past May. She had been battling several different ailments all at the same time... a terribly unfair fight, if you ask me. Alas, there were no cancer hats for me to make for her.

Three weeks before she passed, we Strickers drove over for our last visit. It was hard for Mom to breathe at that point, so she talked very little. But when I pulled yarn out of my travel bag, her eyes lit up. I showed her the baby afghan I was making out of "her" yarn, explained the stitches and the pattern I was following. She asked questions, told me it was beautiful, and nodded approval when I told her I'd most likely donate the blanket to charity.
Told her this left-handed daughter managed to recreate history and teach her right-handed son to crochet. When I informed Mom that her grandson was not only crocheting his own scarf but also had requested his own set of crochet hooks for his birthday, Mom tilted her head, sighed, and smiled.

I thanked her for teaching me how to crochet. I told her it's brought me a great amount of joy.
It was the last really good conversation she and I had.

After Mom's funeral, my sisters packed up all of Mom's yarn and insisted I take it home. Two big grocery bags overflowing. Some full skeins, lots of assorted balls, very few matching colors. I have lots of ideas for Mom's yarn.

But, I am afraid to use it.
You see, once I make it into something and give it to worthy causes... it's gone.

I can't have Mom's yarn and eat it, too.

::sigh::

I think I'll start by making tokens for my siblings and their children.
And we'll see what's left.

All I know is Mom would certainly be very disappointed if I kept it all to myself and did not share it.