Dear Abigail

My apologies sweet child, that it has taken so long for me to write your blanket letter, though I suppose it’s your grownups who have really been waiting for me to do it. Your mum in particular has been wrapping you in a blanket she knows nothing about for months now. I’m grateful to her for the patience she’s shown me as I struggled, who knew it would be this hard? I will spare you the details and just say that I’m glad I got it worked out before you were old enough to pester me yourself.

You – dear light, are a special beast. I know you’ll grow up with a sense of that, as all children should, but in your case it seems ridiculous not to acknowledge that you have arrived after a time of crisis. You are the baby born to us after we learned that not all babies live. I have worried that this could come to be the most important thing about you – that none of us would be able to separate our fear and loss from the experience of being with you, that there could be no joy or happiness that weren’t edged with an anxiety that spoiled it – but it turns out that it works in a way that I wasn’t expecting. (I will spare you too much foreshadowing of the life you are about to live sweet Abby, but spoiler alert: almost none of your time here is going to work in a way you are expecting. Wait until Elliot tells you about escalators.)

You are one of the most supervised, guarded and protected babies who has ever lived, and we appear helpless not to do this – I’m sure that I owe you a personal apology for the number of times I’ve poked you while you were peacefully sleeping, but I don’t regret a one. We have tried to counter our paralyzing and oftentimes illogical fears with with careful thinking, planning, conversations. Not in a single moment with you my darling Abigail, has anything been taken for granted. We rock and hold and take a million pictures of you while we understand completely that there is an another reality possible. Each person in the family is so thoughtful about your existence, so aware that we could have empty arms, that each choice is lovely, intentional and deliberate, and centres on who you are as an individual. I worried that you would live in the shadow of Charlotte, and I couldn’t have been more wrong. We remain grateful for the glimpse we had of her, and simply grateful for all the time we have with you.

First things first, your blanket is to the others as you are to Elliot and Charlotte, a sibling. It is the same size and made from the same yarn – so that they belong together as a family. Like families (and siblings) some of the elements are about you, and some are about the family together and your connection to them.

The centre of your blanket is a beautiful pattern called Candlelight. I chose it because of what lighting a candle symbolizes to us. In our family we light candles to celebrate, to remember, to spark beauty and hope and brighten dark moments. Sweet Abigail, this is what I knew you would be before I even knew you were you. After your great-grandmother died it was your brother Elliot that taught me what a balm babies are for broken hearts, and in some very dark moments the wee spark of you was enough to to be our candle burning in the dark. You were promise, and with every little flame I knit I knew you would be light – and like Elliot, you are.

Around the flickering centre field, ring lace. This is the only element that has been on every blanket I’ve made for babies in our family. It’s on your brother’s, your sisters, on Frankie, Luis, Maeve, Emmet, Myrie and Sasha’s. I knit it on all of them because I want you to know that like them you are part of something bigger than yourself – the ring of this family encircles you with love and support. We are your home.

Past that – something just for you. I swore that I even though your mum tells me you are a rainbow baby (a child born after a loss) I wasn’t going to lean too hard into the whole rainbow thing, not get caught up in a whole cutsie scene and besides… well, you know how I feel about it. Still there is no denying that you are indeed the rainbow that comes after a storm, and so…a panel of rainbows just for you and your mum. Those rainbows are made of curved branches of Lily of the Valley – a nod to my own Grammy. She was wild and fierce and powerful, beautiful and strong and (I thought) maybe a little dangerous. Kay McPhee made me feel so loved that even now, on the cusp of my 55th birthday, more than forty years since she last stroked my hair behind my ear, I still wish for her and aspire to be one little bit of a Grammy like her.

The border before the edging is roses on a trellis, and this is an element your blanket shares with Charlotte’s. It is for my mum, your mother’s grandmother, the indomitable Bonnie McPhee and a nod to the matriarchy that runs this scene. I was torn about repeating something, but you and your sister are the first babies in this family who didn’t have the privilege of meeting my mum, or each other. We have pictures of my mum and Elliot together, and Elliot and Charlotte together, but you are on this side of the great divide, you come after your sister and after the reign of the mighty McPhees. Tupper always said that we are very good at keeping people alive in this family, with storytelling, legends, and pictures and so this motif for my mother appears on your blanket to draw a connection with her, and with your sister. I hope you’ll see it there when you are a bit bigger, and ask me to tell you the story of your blanket, and when you do I will tell you about Charlotte’s perfect day, and my mum, her roses and her magnificent thorns.

The edging lies beyond my mother’s rose garden, and it is something else that you share with your siblings. Like a last name, you all have the same one. It is a very old pattern called Print ‘o The Wave. I put it on your brother’s blanket to symbolize the water we all love to be in and on, and the wave of love that carried him to us. On Charlotte’s blanket I put it on there for those same reasons, and for the water that she and Elliot were born from and into – beautiful soft waterbirths. For you my Abigail, it is on there for all those thing you have in common with them, and because of all the things in the world, water is the softest and strongest, and a beautiful metaphor for overcoming difficulty. The hardest rock can be carved by water in time, and the largest obstacles swept away. Water is powerful, water is enduring, and water seeks level over time. I don’t want to get too mushy, but it is the perfect symbol for your parents love for you, the journey that it took for them to be able to welcome you, and the gentle, brave way they have found to parent you despite their fears. Wee child, you are carried on a wave.

Finally, two things you cannot see, but are in your blanket anyway. First – there are mistakes that I didn’t fix – and that’s new. In the past I have worked hard to make blankets and other things (like life) as perfect as I possibly can, believing that perfection is equivalent to beauty, and mistakes anathema to joy. After the last few years I want you to know that I am really, really sure that they are not related at all. Sometimes bad things happen and everything is (eventually) beautiful anyway. While I can’t see it in you at all right now when every inch of you appears to be faultless, I am sure that you are imperfect. I know you will make mistakes. When they happen, my sweet one, look at your blanket and remember that the things that go wrong, that you get wrong, those things can still be part of a beautiful whole.

Second – invisible but there – every hope, every fear, every wish, every dream I hold for you is in this blanket and all the stitches you can see. I often tell people that I truly believe that knitting is a love container, and in this case it is not just love that I have knit in. I want you to think of it more like a talisman and a shield I have brought into being. As I knit it, I thought about you, and ran my hands over your Mama’s belly. As I knit it, I looped an incantation for protection and saw you whole and here. As I knit it, I worked a charm for safety and wished you into our arms. As I I knit it, I cast my own yarn spell for happiness and waited.

As I knit it I imagined you small but strong, growing, laughing, being with us always, our Abigail, here just as you should be, where you belong, and where you are wanted.

You are loved beyond measure, welcome beyond belief, and you are magic beyond knowing

Love,

Grammy

117 thoughts on “Dear Abigail

  1. Thank you for sharing both beautiful Abigail and her beautiful blanket with us. This is such a wonderful, loving post! <3

  2. Sending good wishes from under an eerily orange New York sky — to any and all touched by the effects of wildfire — and all of the other strange happenings that make life such an unpredictable journey.
    Things happen, we question, we learn, and we go on.
    Knots become lace.
    The way we react is how we create who we are.
    It’s the legacy we leave to others.
    Going on together with hope, love and encouragement transforms the journey into a sacrament.
    Blessed be.

  3. Beautifully written. We lost our adult daughter very recently and suddenly. My Mother’s heart aches and is empty. Your beautiful writing will be treasured in years to come by that sweet perfect baby. I’m weeping for our losses and now this redemption of hope and life.

    • Betsy, I’m so sorry to hear about your daughter. You don’t need sympathy from a total stranger on the internet, and I know it doesn’t help, but I hope you have good memories shored up for when the pain eases enough for you to breath again. We lost my MIL in March; those holes take time to fill.

    • Betsy – I am so sorry for your family’s loss of your daughter!! Keeping you in my thoughts as you navigate this pain.

  4. Grammy, this was written with such Love. The blanket is gorgeous and she will treasure, you, the story, and her blanket forever.

  5. Thank you, Stephanie. You are a great writer, and so deep and beautiful in your sentiments. I am so happy to be reading you again. You make the world a better place; there is no doubt in my mind, and I am filled with gratitude.

  6. It’s a masterpiece, and so is she! Thank you for sharing with us this beautiful letter to your granddaughter.

  7. Stephanie,
    Thank you so much for sharing this with us. As always your writing has touched my soul. I sit here crying both happy and sad tears.

  8. Oh such beautiful words for a beautiful wee babe. Softly weeping with joy and a little sorrow too. Much love ❤️

  9. The blanket and your granddaughter are beautiful. Peace, health and warm thoughts to you and yours! Thank you for sharing.

  10. I can’t always immediately put words to my reaction to your blanket stories. I just need to nurture those thoughts, keep them to myself for awhile. Embrace them. Reflect. Bask in the glow of love.

    But as always, I thank you for the story of them.

    A technical question…
    Do you have any sort of reference guide you use when choosing the different stitch patterns?

    I love making baby blankets of all kinds. Both modern and funky as well as traditional and vintage.
    I would welcome the opportunity to look into all the various stitch patterns that are possible.

  11. I’m so happy to read about Abigail’s blanket – each one you make is a masterpiece of art and heart. Those photos of the wee babe are precious, and that last one … love love love! May blessings abound for your lovely family.

  12. A wonderful letter to a treasured baby. I don’t think you could have put more love into it without breaking some laws of physics! (Please remember this letter in the future, when you’re scrubbing her artworks off the walls.)

  13. Aaaand i’m crying. Thank you for your beautiful words for your beautiful granddaughter. I have loved getting to witness your love knit into these blankets over the years!

  14. An incredibly gorgeous blanket for a wonderfully precious girl. Thank you for sharing this beautiful, loving and thoughtful letter with us, and for letting us share a glimpse of the love you and the rest of the family have wrapped around Abigail.

  15. Thank you for sharing this. Your writing is so heartfelt and pure. She is so lucky to have you as Grammy! Thank you for all the good you put out into a world that needs it so much.

  16. How very, very beautiful. Abigail, the blanket and your heart. I’m so happy for all of you. Welcome back, you were missed.

  17. Remembering those who have gone before, celebrating the present, looking to the future with hope. All contained in some wisps of fiber wound about each other with two sticks.

    Magic. Poetry. Fierce love.

  18. What an incredible love letter to your granddaughter! I hope that she will treasure her blanket and your beautiful words for many, many years.

  19. The blanket posts are, like knitting, such overflowing containers for love. Your instinct for symbolism is really beautiful, and your willingness to be vulnerably human in public is as well.

    I’m so happy for all of you that Abigail is here, is still here, is so loved.

  20. I have no words to express how much your words have touched my heart. She is indeed a treasure. That last picture? Melts my heart – her smile.. omg that smile.

  21. I’m a long-time reader (like when the blog was new days), and I came for the knitting but stayed for the writing.. and the blanket stories are always some of my favorites. Thank you for sharing these with us… XOXO

  22. What a joy to read this, Stephanie. I am now a grandmother, myself (to a little boy born very close to Abigail), and I feel every word of this post even more keenly than in the past. Happy 55th to you and to me, and may all of our little ones flourish in the love of their family and grow into imperfectly perfect people. (From your Exact Birthday Twin in NY State.)

  23. As always, your writing and your knitting are enjoyed by all who are privileged to know you, even a little. Many thanks for sharing another beautiful story.

  24. The blanket is an absolute masterpiece from your heart. Sobbing beyond words for the beautiful gift of family you’ve shown to your extended nest. Especially to your daughter and to this precious little girl through times that defy rhyme or reason.
    Blessings to Abigail for the amazing person she will be; to her mama for her heartbreak and the joys she will receive; and to you for the grace and the heart and the soul that you bring to all. Sending prayers for those who have gone before to those who bond together today and for those who may yet become.
    Thank you for sharing; the world needs your light and your hope. Namaste, Bonnie

  25. What a beautiful child. And your beautiful blanket (her beautiful blanket) is such an important touchstone.

    My mother was born in September 1918. She was the last surviving baby in the family and came along when their small farming community in Wisconsin was hit hard by that other pandemic. As the child who lived, she was cherished and watched over during periods of difficult time in the family and the world (they lost the farm in 1929, etc). Her memories of childhood–and indeed, the rest of her life–were rooted in feelings of safety, contentment and loving connection and that security echoed down the decades despite the scattering of family around the country.

  26. The blanket is almost as beautiful as the one it swaddles. I love learning about why you chose the stitches you did. Wishing Abigail much love.

  27. How can someone be a poet and an exceptionally talented knitter at the same time? You have a remarkable ability to hold us spellbound with your words and mesmerized with your knitting and love for your family.

  28. Beautiful beyond words. Our daughter, adopted from China after ectopic pregnancies and miscarriages, is also named Abigail, along wit her birth name. We understood Abigail means Source of Joy.

  29. Grammy, Thank you for sharing this tradition and story with us. I wasn’t born into a family like yours. I desperately wish that I had been. Now I realize it is still ok. I can knit, and therefore through your example, can learn to create a family and a life that shares the love and support of yours. I wish you and Abigail and everyone in your family all the best.

  30. Thank you for your beautiful post to Abigail, for sharing it with us, and for your words that knitting is a love container. I think of it the same way. I’m about to start the second sleeve for my son’s Going to College sweater and every stitch is a mark of my love for him, and my prayers for his safety and happiness. I don’t know if he’ll wear it, but he’ll have a hug from mom in his drawer whenever he needs it and that makes me feel better as we enter this new family chapter. What a ride it is.

  31. You have such a beautiful way with words! I love leaving the mistakes in…we are all imperfect and still beautiful!❤️

  32. Thank you for sharing this lovely story for Abbigail. Loss is bitter and beautiful thing that can tear you apart. It is a wonderful thing to watch a family move on from such a thing. Your care, concern, hope and respect for this little person is inspiring.

  33. Thank you for sharing your letter to your granddaughter and the story of her blanket. It’s a post that was worth waiting for!

  34. This was lovely to read. You’ve written a lot of moving and beautiful things, but I think this is one of the loveliest you’ve written. And, of course, the blanket is gorgeous, and Abigail is just so beautiful.

  35. I truly believe that if every child were welcomed with this degree of love and acceptance, that there would be no war, no hate, and no atrocities in the world.
    i’m not crying, you’re crying!

  36. An unforgettable post! A talisman and a shield, a family’s history embodied in each stitch. Such profound wisdom.
    I was struck by your words, “believing that perfection is equivalent to beauty, and mistakes anathema to joy.” and realizing that some things we have believed to be true, are in fact, completely the opposite. Here’s to beautiful Abigail, to resilience and love.

  37. The blanket and your writing, are both beautiful. Abigail is a lucky girl to have you as her grandmother, and to be born of such wonderful parents and into your family. You are indeed an inspiration to us all.

  38. Each blanket letter I think, “this is my favorite.” But this. This. The women who came before, the women here now, and the women to come. And all at the heart core of a family that continues to rise above the hurt to create and embrace the love that underlies all. They say that while most animals run away from a storm, thinking they can outrun it, the Buffalo realizes the fastest way to get through a storm is to run towards to get to the other side. I think Abigail will grow to be a Buffalo, she has the examples of her tribe. Charge the storm.
    Blessed be,
    Sally

  39. With leaking eyes, I can only say there is nothing I could possibly add to the sentiments I’ve read. All my best to you and yours.

  40. What a loving tribute to a gorgeous and much loved granddaughter. And you have an exceptional gift, it is written so beautifully!

  41. I know the extreme joy of welcoming a rainbow baby. Thank you for sharing your precious description of Abigail’s blanket.

  42. Ahhhh, the “reign of the Mighty McPhees” continues. You, our cherished friend, are truly mighty and all of the wee ones in your life will cherish you as much as you cherished your Grammy.
    Love is the wellspring of your family and all those wonderful people you claim as yours keep sharing that bounty with every life they touch…including ours.
    Thank you for sharing this tender beautiful story.
    You are our balm and blessing.

  43. Well thanks for making me cry at work. What a beautifully written tribute to 2 one of a kind works of art. I know Abigail will continue to grow and be a strong, determined woman, as she is surrounded by so many fabulous examples of these qualities. Thank you for sharing the story of her blanket, and of your life, I’ve missed the blog.

  44. Beautiful story! As the surviving sister of a baby who died of SIDS over 40 years ago, I understand the pain and immense joy of a new baby after a loss. Your letter to Abigail is a testament to the strength and love of your family bond. Abigail and Elliot will thrive in that love.

  45. I’m sure there will be many times that Abigail reads this post, hugs her blankie and feels the love of her Grammy in every word. It’s a wonderful gift for her now and her future self!

  46. How beautiful – the blanket, your words, and that precious baby. I’m all weepy (in a good way) at my desk..

  47. Last Saturday was Knit in Public Day, something you have been doing, probably most of your adult life. It was supposed to happen at a farmers’ market, and I could not any other knitters. No one amongst the farmers or craft vendors knew anything about Knit in Public. At first I thought about just slipping away, and then I remembered that I had canceled something else just so I could knit in public and goshdarn that’s what I was going to do. I found a spot out of the traffic flow, but obvious, and started work on my chameleon-scarf-in-progress. Several people stopped to chat and after fifteen minutes a young woman mentioned she had just seen some other knitters. Oh? Where? She motioned vaguely. Off I went. There they were, a sizeable bunch, on the streetside elevated pavilion that was the judging stand for parade days. Happily, I joined them.

  48. Through blurry, teary eyes I thank you for your wonderful words. You truly have a gift with words and I bless you for sharing it with us as well as your family.

  49. Such a delight to have in your life. Long life Abigail, may you bless those around you with love and laughter.

  50. I just now read this beautiful post…at work on a break, bawling like a sweet but upset baby and my coworkers are asking “what is wrong?!?”
    Nothing wrong, just an amazing blog about a beautiful baby and her blanket. ♥️

  51. KITH (Knitting in the Heartland) is coming back. April 26-28, 2024 at the Embassy Suites in Olathe (Kansas City metro area — on the Kansas side). And we’re going to have a very special knitter coming to join us — she’s been here before. I’m delirious.

  52. From the mother of another rainbow baby Abigail, now 11 (!!), thank you for everything you share here with such beauty, honesty and humour.
    Love from Australia xo

  53. Well, Steph, you of all the people on this planet are just…well, you are….wonderful, treasured by all who know you or know about you through your writing…and you have done something so special in this blanket letter…you have touched deep, deep, deep into my soul and made me remember MY blanket…long gone, not forgotten but not around anymore and I was filled with happiness because you made a special blanket for Little Abigail. I love you.

  54. Thank you for sharing your blanket letter for Abigail. And thanks for sharing the wisdom about mistakes being part of a big beautiful imperfect whole. It brings to mind a song we sing at camp based on Leonard Cohen’s Anthem:

    Forget your perfect offering
    Just sing a song that you can sing
    There is a crack in everything
    That’s how the light gets in
    That’s how the light gets in.

    Wishing you and Abigail and your whole beautiful family lots of light.

  55. Like your blanket, this piece of writing is both full of beauty and full of love. Had me hard crying early, for the grief, the hope, the joy that life contains and how heartbreakingly honest and beautifully crafted your expression of it is.

  56. Every one of your blanket letters gets me. And this one hit me right between the eyeballs. Every word is a gem. And this darling baby – that picture with the smile? Oy. My heart just melted.

    Blessings to you and your family as you watch everyone grow and thrive!

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  58. This is my first time coming to this place. There is a lot of interesting information on your blog, especially the comments. From all the comments on your posts, it looks like I’m not the only one having fun here.

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