A 103 degree fever this week had me removing my daughter’s fancy, modern sleep sack in favor of a lighter blanket.
As I rubbed her back, I found myself studying the blanket I’d chosen. An afghan crocheted by my grandma.
Growing up, we had afghans everywhere in the house. We, in Illinois, would pick out yarn, ship it to North Carolina and at the next birthday or holiday, another afghan would appear.
When I left home for college & travel, the afghans didn’t come with and I’d somewhat forgot about them. After getting married my mom gave me a Christmas-themed one, that has been my tree skirt for the past two years. When, my daughter was born, we received two more.
As I considered the afghan covering my daughter, I felt both the magnitude and the simplicity of legacy. A blanket crafted by my grandma, who passed away over ten years ago, was kept by my aunt for our children. The afghans, always a part of my childhood, laid dormant for years before awakening again.
My grandma had a stoke in the late 70’s, before I was old enough to know her “old” self. She was ill with emphysema my entire life and our visits to North Carolina each year were marked by my father’s morbid reminders of, “this could be the last.”
My grandma had five kids. The youngest, my mom, being sixteen years than her first. Her husband died when my mom was young. She moved from West Virginia to Chicago with the younger kids and raised them.
All of this history, connection & legacy was transmitted through a simple afghan while watching my daughter sleep. The fact my grandma was a nurse made the current usage of the afghan all the sweeter.
It seems that when I think about legacy – at work or at home – I make it this monumental thing. Philanthropic legacy, organizational legacy, social change legacy. Yet, the power of legacy isn’t tied to the complexity of the thing. The easier it is to conjure the meaning, tell the stories, and feel the person increases the possibility of its endurance.
It’s comforting to think of legacy in this way. We may never know ours and it may not be how we intend. Yet, it exists.
My grandma tried to teach me to crochet. I missed the chance to learn from her, but I’ve signed up for a class next month to see if I can continue her legacy.
