Knitted Old Days

  "Here we are Dad," Rosemary says as she opens the door to my room and pushes my wheelchair inside. 

  I frown at the cabin-sized room decorated with the tackiest ocean theme I'd ever seen. The walls of the room are a deep ocean blue with yellow mixed in some places. The covers on the small bed are starfishes of different sizes and colors forming a sporadic pattern. The red plush chair in the corner next to the bed is lined with white pearls along the seams of the arms. The curtains covering the window are decorated with shells and worse are the cabinets and dresser. Painted with fish, seashells, and boats waving in the water. 

  I feel a headache coming on at the sight of it all and it makes my own vision start swimming.

"What do you think Dad?" Rose asks

"It's horrible," I say.

"I thought an ocean theme would make you feel more at home," she says. 

"I would feel more at home in my own place," I say. 

"Dad, we've talked about this. You can't stay at home anymore with those legs of yours and you need proper care. Besides, I'm sure you'll come to love it here," she says.  

"Ya, maybe," I grumble. 

  Getting old, it's something you never think will happen until it does. It's like the ocean sweeping up against your ankles every now and again. Until your waist-deep in the water without even realizing it.

  I always hated the thought of getting old and ending up in a place like this. Being trapped in a room and bound to a wheelchair. Having nurses take care of you and watch your every move. 

  The nurses even have a set schedule for your day. Bedtime is at nine and breakfast is at seven. You have activities in the morning from eight to nine then two hours of rest and relaxation. Then when the clock on the wall chimes eleven you're whisked off to lunch. After which it's a long list of visits, doctor appointments, and a whole lot of nothing.

   I was born and raised on the Oregon coast by my father who was a light house keeper. We lived in a small cabin right next door to the lighthouse and a step away from the ocean where I would fish and boat after school.

  When I was eighteen I joined the Navy and climbed up the ranks until I withdrew at the age of thirty-three. By that point, my wife Sarah and I were married and about to start our life together. We settled into our own small beach house by the ocean. Where I started my own fishing business down at the ports.

Later on, as the fishing business and I grew busier, I got me a crew. I was a top rate captain and highly respected as the master of the seven seas. 

  A year or two later my daughter Rosemary was born and I had my hands full. Being both a captain to my crew and a father to my high energy daughter was difficult. However, I loved every minute of it. 

  Being able to watch my daughter growing up among the waves and becoming the top surfer in our little town. It made me very proud. 

However, times have changed. My wife died almost a year ago now and I'd been living on my own ever since. My daughter and her husband live in the city and are unable to take care of me. So, my daughter had decided to put me in Golden Oaks Retirement. She told me I needed proper care and that it was important for someone my age.

I might be a near ninety-year-old man but I still have a few years left in me. And to think I'll be spending them in this forsaken place. Well, it just makes this old sailor even lonesome than before. 

  Today's a Tuesday and for some reason on Tuesdays, we do a craft. Which for me is far worse than anything we do all week. 

"Alright class, today we're going to try knitting," Ms. Janet announces.

  Ms. Janet is one of the nurses who are in charge of the activities and crafts. She often picks the stupidest things known to man and today she chose knitting. Of all the things she could have chosen why that? 

  Despite my inner protests, however, everyone seems to be in full swing with there projects. Janet shows us the basics of stitching and how to get a thread on one needle and onto the other. 

  I sit there with my arms crossed and without a needle or thread in my hands.

  "Mr. Thompsan?" Ms. Janet asks "Aren't you going to join us?" 

  "No," I reply

  "Why not? It's quite fun you know," she smiles

  "Because I don't want to," I scowl 

  She sighs and puts her hands on her hips. "Well, you can't just sit there and do nothing," she says. 

  "Watch me," I growl 

  She taps her foot and her eyes sharpen onto me. "How about this, if you do today's activity you can skip next weeks. Deal?" she says, stretching her hand towards me.

  I stare at her a moment and grind my teeth. I can feel her gaze start to cut into me as I frown. 

  "Deal," I say. Shaking her hand. 

"Right then, let's try this again shall we?" she says 

I'm given two wooden needles and a ball of red yarn. She demonstrates how to loop the yarn around one needle and thread the other needle through the loop. I work my hands around the yarn and begin to do as she says. Each loop jumps from one stick to the other until I make an entire row. I continue until the yarn has been intertwined into a knitted red square. 

  "Very well done, Mr. Thompsan," Ms. Janet says. "Maybe you have a talent for this after all." 

  I feel the corner of my mouths tug into a small smile at her words. 

The days pass by without my notice as I continue to knit. A scarf here, a hat there, and eventually working my way up to a blanket. 

I don't know what the devil has gotten into me but for some reason, I really enjoy knitting. Seeing a simple thread of yarn being knitted together to create something intricate. It reminds me of the sea and when my wife, daughter, and I would walk along the shore. My wife and I holding our daughter's little hands. As she filled her knitted blue bag my wife had made her with every seashell she could find.

My wife used to love to knit and I loved watching her do so. Perhaps that's why I like knitting so much because just like yarn. Our hearts were always intertwined and held a strong bond. Even if we were to unravel and fall apart. We'd always find ways to stitch ourselves back together.

"Dad? What is all of this?" Rosemary asks. 

  It's Wednesday and Rosemary has come to visit me again. Just before she arrived I'd grabbed out all my knitting projects. Setting them neatly on the bed to show my daughter my creations. 

  She lingers in the doorway a moment longer before walking over to the bed. A smile spreading across her lips as she traces her hand over the items.

  "I never knew you liked to knit," she says. 

  "I didn't know either until I started doing it," I say 

   She picks up a green hat with a white flower on top. "Mom used to love to knit," she says with a fond smile "I remember watching her all the time when I was younger."

 "Speaking of your mother. I have something for you," I say. 

  I wheel over to my dresser and open the drawer. Reaching my hand inside I grab a light blue knitted pouch with a gold string around the brim. I wheel myself to where Rose is and hand her the bag. 

  "Here," I say. 

  Rose opens the bag and her eyes widen as her hand flies to her mouth. Suddenly tears are streaming down her cheeks as she looks at me. 

  "It's seashells," she whispers. 

  "Yes," I reply. "I remembered how much you used to love collecting them and I-" 

  Before I can finish, her arms wrap around my neck and she whispers into my ear. "Thank you." 

  I feel tears rolling down my own cheeks as I wrap my arms around her. "Your welcome," I say. 

"I love you Dad," she says

"I love you too," I say back.