Memorializing with fibre

Losing a loved one is never easy. Grief is personal and most definitely not a linear process. How we cope is primal, reactive, and not something we can plan for because we just never know how we will feel when it happens to us. The only universal aspect about it is that loss is eminent, and consequently, so is grief.

Last fall, we lost my father in law. His passing was unexpected and devastated our family. He was a wonderful family man, a rock to us all, and such a positive energy to be around. His absence is still blatant and incredibly palpable. In order to cope, we have all clung to our own lifeboats of belief in a futile attempt to dull the pain. To say this was a significant loss is an understatement.

I'd like to think I had a special relationship with my father-in-law, but having joined the family through marriage, my grief is somewhat peripheral in comparison to my husband's, his sister's, and mother's. I feel like my roll is more of a supporting one, but besides offering my condolences and being present for all the logistical moments of planning a funeral, I sometimes feel useless and ineffectual.

My most dominant love language is an artistic one, heavily axed on creating something (usually hand made) based on carefully curated sentimental ideas. However, the prospect of showing my love and support in this manner seemed impossible and maybe even slightly inappropriate in this situation...that was until I spotted the funeral floral arrangement that had been sitting in our garage for months.

Dried up funeral arrangement

This bouquet had a very significant role last October. It wasn't only the centre piece during the celebration of life, it was what gently hugged a black stone receptacle that housed the guest of honour. This large arrangement consisted of some greenery and 6 red and 6 white roses. I'm told red roses were my father in law's favourite flower - classic and iconic, just like him. After that exhausting and emotional day, my husband couldn't bring himself to part with his father's funeral flowers so it became a semi-permanent fixture in our garage for the next 10 months, where it withered and dried out into a brown mound of crispy foliage. I knew its days were numbered but every time I went to dispose of it myself, something stopped me...until one day, a light bulb went off, and I had an idea. I would pick off all the dried rose petals and dye some yarn with it!

White and red dried rose petals from the arrangement

I had only dabbled in natural dyeing once before when I harvested the tiny crab-apple-like fruit from our front yard tree. I had some success but one thing I learnt was a lot does not go a long way. I knew I only had a dozen roses to work with and only one shot to get it right. I had no idea how much dye I would get or what colour this would even yield, so I did some research. Turns out, there was no specific information on making a dried rose petal dye stock (using fresh roses, yes), so I applied some basic natural dyeing tips and hoped for the best.

Dried red rose petals

Dried white rose petals

Dye stock and rose petal pulp

First, I cut off all the dried roses, and separated the petals one by one. I discarded all the brittle greenery and finally threw the rest of the arrangement out. I filled a medium pot with water, added all the red petals, and simmered the botanical soup for roughly an hour. I repeated the same process for the white petals and put both stocks into jars.

Red and white dye stock from dried rose petals

The results stunned me. I wasn't expecting the rich amber liquid that I was able to extract, especially from the white petals. I should have known better though. Of course these oxidized petals could only add golds and browns instead of their original (since evaporated) colour! Still, I was not prepared and my mind was only to be blown further when I apply it to the fibre.

Before I decided on which yarn base to use, I had to pick a project. It had to be small enough because I didn't have a lot of dye, but I also wanted it to be functional. I decided on a dk weight sock pattern by a local and talented knitwear designer Marie-Elyse Dugal. I chose her Winter Stroll sock pattern because it was beautiful, delicate, and the name reminded me of my father in law. His birthday was in December and he loved to walk, so it seemed fitting. You can find her free pattern here on Ravelry. It's a joy to knit and the results are so beautiful.

80% Merino DK, 20% nylon

Spun gold merino cakes

Winter Stroll DK socks

I was able to dye three skeins of my squishy merino/nylon dk base. In hind sight, I could have dyed more had I not combined the light and dark dyes, but then I wouldn't have gotten the stunning two toned variegated camel colour that I did. Seriously, it looked like spun gold that Rumpelstiltskin himself would have been jealous of. I was hoping to knit a pair of socks for the whole family (a total of nine pairs) but alas, I made a creative decision that capped me at three.

I ended up knitting two very cozy socks, for my mother in law and sister in law, which I planned to gift to them on the one year anniversary of my father in law's passing. I wasn't sure how it would be received but this weekend, I took a deep breath and offered my unorthodox present. The socks were initially received with appreciation and smiles, followed by an outburst of tears as I explained the story behind it. Honestly, I wasn't sure it was a positive reaction at first, but as the tears turned back into smiles and hugs, I was relieved that my gesture had touched and not harmed. I can only hope now that these socks will get a lot of use and bring the wearers much comfort, literal and emotional.

In the end, this project wasn't just for my family's grief. Turns out, it accidentally benefited me as well. It allowed me to harness my sadness and create beauty out of tragedy, which turned out to be incredibly cathartic. From the moment I plucked the first rose petals, to every stitch I knit with the dyed yarn, I meditated on my father in law, his passing, and all the wonderful moments we had with him. I still have one skein of this sentimental yarn left, and I will chose the next project very carefully because I don't have any left after this. I'm almost afraid to use it all up but I have to remind myself that, just like my father in law, it's never really gone, it simply transformed into something else.

As hard as it is, we can't be afraid to let go of what was. It's important to remember that true healing happens when we let things go, allow them to organically evolve, and take comfort in the infinite possibilities of that metamorphosis.

RIP PRB.