Crocheting Into Eternity – By Carmelene Melanie Siani

Kindness Blog

Sister Brazil was her name. At least that’s what I remember calling her all those 70 years ago.

“Come and sit here, child,” she would say with her hands.
 She didn’t speak English ̶ she spoke Hungarian like all the other nuns at the orphanage ̶ and so she spoke to me with her hands. I could tell though that she was calling me “child” in a tender way because she had a tender way of talking, even with those hands.

I left my spot on the grass where I was sitting alone and went over to where she was perched on the bench crocheting while she watched the other little girls playing in the field. I couldn’t play with the other little girls because I wasn’t well enough or strong enough.

“Don’t let her get excited,” was one of the last things I heard my mother say before…

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