Handmade Goodbye: How My Very First Project Helped Me Process Death

I have always used crochet as a way to cope with my emotions. It is something I have done for as long as I can remember, and it remains my anchor today.

When I was eleven, my Great Grandma was in the hospital. My mom used to bring my siblings and me to visit her as much as she could. At the time, I was still learning how to crochet from my grandmother, constantly struggling to understand how the craft actually worked. One afternoon, my mom handed me some forest green and white acrylic yarn. The room was heavy with sadness, and I felt a desperate need to do something...anything to cheer my Great Grandma up.

I became fiercely determined to crochet her something she could keep with her for comfort in her hospital room. A pillow felt like the right choice, pillows are cozy. So, I went to work in that waiting room, my grandma and mom patiently guiding my hands through the process. It felt like it took weeks to put together this tiny 4x6 rectangle, but when it was finally done, I felt an immense wave of accomplishment. I was so excited to stuff it with the poly-fill my grandma had brought for me.

By the time I finished, my Great Grandma ’s health had declined significantly. My mom, wanting to protect our memories of her, didn't want us to see her that sick, so we stayed home while she went to visit alone. I deeply admire my mom for that, our final visit with my Great Grandma had been full of laughter and pure presence. Before my mom left, I asked her to take the pillow to the hospital. She was able to give it to her, and she later told me that my Great Grandma absolutely loved it.

That was my very first project: a tiny, 4x6 forest green and white pillow with tassels on the four corners. I didnt have any pattern, I just crocheted from the heart and with my grandma's guidance . I can still vividly recall the feeling of finishing it and knowing my handmade gift was with her. I had poured every ounce of love I had into those stitches.

Shortly after that, she was no longer mentally present with us. Without the pillow to distract me, I felt lost. I didn't know what to do or how to process my feelings, so I decided to start a blanket for my best friend, using only double crochet stitches.

Then came the day. I was sitting in our La-Z-Boy recliner watching SpongeBob, about twenty rows into this new blanket. My siblings were all hanging out in the living room when my mom came home.

I stopped crocheting immediately as she paused in the entrance. She stood there in silence for a while, just watching us, as if she were mentally mapping out how to break the news. Finally, with heavy eyes, she spoke: "I'm sorry. Tonight, your Great Grandma passed away."

I stared down at my project in absolute disbelief. I froze; my stomach dropped. The room fell into a suffocating silence, only the sound of the TV in the background. No one wanted to be the first to speak. Then, cutting through the heavy air, my mom asked, "Who wants McDonald's?"

With that, life seemed to move forward just a fraction of an inch. My mom knew we were paralyzed and didn't know what to say. We got our food, and I retreated back into my blanket. That night, I stayed up late, working stitch after stitch into the darkness.

A day or two later, my mom brought that little forest green and white pillow back home. When it came time for the funeral, my mom and grandma suggested I bring it with me. Standing there saying goodbye, I laid my tiny pillow right next to my Great-Grandma’s head.

When we got home, I went right back to work on the blanket. As the holidays passed, instead of joining in on family conversations, I sat quietly, letting the yarn run through my fingers.

Almost six months later, I finished it. An oversized blanket made of blue and purple variegated yarn, completed with a beautiful white shell border. It was easily big enough to cover a California King bed, even though my friend only had a full-sized mattress! I still remember the warmth and happiness in my soul when I gave it to her. It was only my second project, but it held so much healing.

Crocheting is what helped my 11-year-old self navigate my very first brush with grief and death. Looking back, I realize how profoundly regulating that rhythmic motion was for my nervous system at such a young age. It allowed me to take something terrible and transform it into something beautiful. While I was deeply saddened by her passing, being able to gift my Great Grandma forever my very first creation is the reason I still pick up a hook today.

If you are reading this, I urge you: no matter how lost you feel, or how much pain you are carrying, don't forget to keep moving. Take those heavy emotions and channel them into creation. Every stitch, every brushstroke, every piece we make tells a story. Art truly is the window to the soul. Whether you are crocheting, painting, practicing macramé, or exploring any other craft, keep creating, and keep making your life beautiful.