Just after Christmas, my 91-year old mother collapsed and disappeared into the fog of dementia, suddenly unreachable despite her body being still alive, and still here. And I began a long, slow submersion into grief that seemed, at times, to be dragging me down into the darkness where my mother had gone. Because she was alive, it seemed completely wrong to mourn for my missing mother. Continue reading “Losing Mom; Knitting Through Grief” →