The end of the year is one of my favorite times. I love looking back through the past twelve months and seeing how we’ve grown and changed. I’ve had a habit of turning on Regina Spektor’s New Year and reminiscing through the months that have passed while planning and praying for the months to come.

It’s a bit different for 2022. So much has happened. I wasn’t quite sure how to write about it all. We already have the monthly chronicles of Michael as he grew. Much of my life is summed up by his milestones at the moment, as I stay at home to tend to him.

I was looking back through my Ravelry projects for 2022 and discovered I had finished more than I realized. It’s amazing how different projects brought me straight back to the time I was knitting them. It’s as though I was weaving time and memories along with the yarn and thread.

So to reflect on the past year, I’ve decided to chronicle my different creations and describe what was going on in our lives as I worked on each of them.

January began with me finishing my first pair of socks, for myself. It was my first finished project after Michael’s birth, and much of it was knitted as I nursed him or held him sleeping against my chest. When I had Michael, I was certain my knitting days were behind me. I thought that sleepless nights and motherly duties would keep me from creating things, but I was mistaken. Motherhood has only enhanced my creativity and my joy in making. My time is limited, but my abilities have expanded.

In March, I completed a cowl and began a more complex project — a shawl — which I finished in April. In full honesty, much of this project is a blur. It was during these months that I realized I had postpartum depression, and that I needed help from my family, friends, and a little blue pill to get out of the fog and the darkness. I remember numbly moving through the motions of knitting the same way I was numbly moving through the motions of life. Watching a shawl grow from my needles was a physical reminder that the inertia I felt would not last forever. Beauty and goodness were still around me, even if I couldn’t see or feel them. Now when I wear it, I’m reminded of those who love me, and those who were there for me in some of my darkest times.

In April I also began and finished my first garment: a blouse. It was a quick project but was my first time pushing out of my comfort zone. After completing this blouse, I realized I could attempt more challenging patterns — even with my sleep deprivation and the chaos of our living situation, this was a place I had agency. As I began to understand and settle into my new role as a mother, I was discovering new skills I didn’t know I had.

In May, I shifted some of my making focus towards sewing instead, as I needed new clothes to fit my changing body. As someone who has struggled with body image throughout my life, I wasn’t sure how I was going to navigate the changes that came with pregnancy and postpartum. Instead of agonizing over clothing sizes or trying to fit into my pre-pregnancy outfits, I decided to make my own clothing to fit my body where it was at that time. I made a blouse and a skirt, and still wear them both often.

I was putting the finishing touches on my skirt when we got the news that my uncle Leonard had passed away. I remember sitting outside with my seam ripper and my skirt on my lap, undoing a seam and feeling like a part of my heart had been hollowed out. My Uncle Leo was like a grandfather to me. He and my Aunt Nita had been there at all my life events, from piano recitals to my wedding. I’m grateful for the many fond memories we have, like sitting at Starbucks together at Christmas time with ridiculous amounts of whipped cream on our drinks while my mom and Aunt Nita did the Christmas shopping. He would entertain me and my siblings with stories of his mother, or his childhood, or his poodle Fluffer-Loo. He was always telling stories and making us laugh. He had the most contagious laugh.

At the end of May I knit my first color work project: a hat for my mother with mosaic knitting. I have fond memories of this project: often I would sit out under the pomegranate trees while Michael napped or stared up at the sunlight through the leaves, and I would knit beside him as we both soaked up the sunlight and delighted in the smell of the orange blossoms.

In June I began my next pair of socks for my husband, and I’ve already dedicated an entire blog post to the revelations I had while making them. Socks still aren’t my favorite to knit, but I’ve grown a new appreciation for them. Humble work is still good and beautiful work.

In July, I made Michael some socks from the leftover yarn — father and son have matching pairs.

The beginning of August brought much of my making to a standstill when we were all shaken by my uncle David’s unexpected death at age 49 due to a ruptured pancreas. He was my godfather, and I remember him often in my prayers. He had a great sense of humor, and was an earnest man who loved me dearly. When I look back on the month, I remember blistering heat and scorching grief, numbly going through the motions of preparing our second funeral of the year. Midway through the month I cast on some new projects for solace and an outlet.

The end of August and beginning of September I made a few Christmas presents: a vest for Michael and a pair of gloves for my sister. Seeing them wear them on Christmas Day has enforced my love of handmade gifts.

In September, we lost another family member: our beautiful niece Mabel, stillborn. Neither Jake nor I were able to attend the memorial because of family illness, but we ask our niece in heaven to pray for us daily. I still have the bonnet I knit her, wrapped in tissue paper, in a drawer.

When I make gifts for people, I pray for the recipient throughout the making process. Each stitch is a physical symbol of the prayers running through my mind and my fingers. I take comfort in knowing one day I will meet the little girl I prayed for, and who prays for us.

In October, we finally got to call our little cottage home. The moving chaos was punctuated by my maternal grandmother being hospitalized. We had some very scary days where we weren’t sure what would happen. She is still on her journey back to health.

I finished two projects sitting in my chair by the window, like I had imagined from the beginning of this whole moving process. One was a blue jacket for Michael, the other a pair of mittens for one of my nieces.

November brought with it blustery days and dropping temperatures, absolutely perfect for knitting as we settled into our new home with its new routine. I finished my first ever sweater for myself, a bread blanket for my sister in law, and a Thanksgiving sweater for Michael.

My paternal grandmother was hospitalized for influenza before Thanksgiving, and my dad flew out to spend time with them when she was home in December. I poured all my knitting energy into gifts, specifically Jacob’s sweater. I finished on Christmas Eve with a few hours to spare.

Even with all of our family’s grief and health scares, as winter gently tucked the gardens to sleep I feel as though we too entered into a sort of hibernation. Things were quieter as we stayed home and healed from the events of the year. The holidays brought their usual chaos, but it was delightful chaos: friends and family came to visit, and Michael enjoyed all the Christmas lights and presents.

I have a few items on my needles that I’m working on as 2022 draws to a close. A mosaic colorwork cowl I’ve been dreaming of knitting since I saw the pattern on Ravelry, and a few gift knits too.

2022 taught me how to create beautiful things despite the tempests of life. It taught me how to grow with grief grafted on to me, and to embrace suffering as growth while also keeping my gaze fixed on eternity. It also brought with it indescribable joy: motherhood and homesteading and time with family.

Happy New Year to all — may 2023 be a year of light and laughter, and may we respond with grace and holiness to whatever it brings us.