Yarn in color coded piles in my room, a mark on my finger from yarn sliding by, a bag full of colorful items and countless hours crocheting that’s how a difference is made, that’s how life can be improved. This summer my crochet class and I had a goal. In October we had our second annual crafts for the cure. I have been going to a crochet class on Sundays for about four years. This class consists of whoever wants to come, learn, talk, and crochet. There are grandmothers, mothers and daughters, sometimes only in middle school or younger. Last year it was decided instead of just crocheting for ourselves, family and friends, to have a big fundraiser for the fight against breast cancer. So, the first crafts for the cure was planned, it was a vision in pink raising over six hundred dollars for Susan G. Komen.

This year, the second annual Crafts for the Cure was planned, changing for the better. Not everything was pink and so much more was made since planning started four to five months in advanced. I was in charge of the little animals, hair ties, stress balls and anything small a little kid might pick out like last year. So, over the summer and during the school year I crocheted hair ties, penguins, stress balls, ducks, an afghan, hair bows, owls, animal bags and so much more. Part of the summer I spent in Israel and I continued to crochet even there. While I was crocheting across continents, women from my crochet class made blankets, scarves, bags, shawls and so much more. Donations of money and crochet items were made months before the sale even began.

The day of the sale I walked into A. C. Moore, which is where the crochet class is held, and was greeted by rows of tables and hangings covered in crochet items made by so many different people for one cause. I sat in the store for four to five hours. The previous year I had a little girl stand next to me as I finished her new teddy bear, which was actually a pig. This year I had an old teacher and a woman wait for me to finish their new penguins. As I sat crocheting and selling, I got to listen as people came and learned what we were doing. I heard stories of people whose sisters, mothers or they themselves battled breast cancer. I heard stories of survivors and those how remain loved even though they are gone. I heard how people are very happy with the medical advancements and those who struggle because these advancements were too late to save the ones they love.

This was started by my crochet teacher whose daughter died long before I met her of breast cancer. I have heard her talk of how happy she is with all the new technologies and treatments and how sometimes she struggles with that happiness wondering what would have happened if these advancements were around when her daughter needed them. I also think of my first grade teacher who got me into gardening, I am now a high school junior and hope to become a botanist. I remember her from first grade, I also remember in fifth grade when she got breast cancer for the second time. I remember signing up to make her and her family dinner, helping my mom pick out a blanket to make her and giving her a plant. I remember raising money for team Parkany on the Parkway, the too small team shirt still lies in my closet, but I could not go to the race. I remember crying when I learned the summer before fifth grade she had passed away. I remember her memorial service as they sang Amazing Grace”. I remember wearing the team shirt years later the first time I actually made it to the race. She is not the only person in my life who was lost to or battled breast cancer. I also think of my aunt and cousins as my aunt battles breast cancer this year. For a long time this cause has been close to my heart.

The days I spend crocheting are the days that I spend helping to create a cure. The hours I sat selling were the hours I learned of the world and those who live or lived on it. Last year the most special moment for me was seeing the little girl smile after waiting for her teddy bear which was actually a pig. This year it was hearing the conversations, some of the women who sat crocheting had loved ones who had breast cancer, and one of the women was a survivor herself. When people do kind things for others it’s a story, that people add on to and it spreads smiles and meaningful tears. I could hear them talk, some of people selling and crocheting were survivors, and some of the buyers were too. Those few hours I spent sitting there opened up so many stories of triumph, sorrow, mourning fear and mystery but most of all a story of unity. In those few hours we raised over one thousand four hundred dollars, every buyer, every crocheter, and every person of inspiration, we are helping to make a difference.
And there they sat consoling each other a survivor and a sufferer of a different type. The world united in a cure the world united in more sorrow and less tears.