| I just received an email from Annie Modesitt. My essay has undergone its first edit - I believe that means it will be published in her book!!!  I've only ever been published in high school works before.
Annie has wisely removed the last paragraph, "...who knows how this very sad family custody situation will resolve itself - hopefully in future things will heal, and it would be better not to have a written, published memento of the deep pain the family dispute caused."
Her wonderful editing job has made my essay more readable to others and I appreciate her hard work. The original essay was simply an outpouring by me and thus not very structured. 
Her email is very timely, as I have been thinking of Tracy all month. I think of her often, but much more so since her birthday, June 6th (she would have been 26) and the approaching anniversary of her death, July 2nd.
I posted the original version of the essay, January 9th. Here is the edited version:
TRACY
by Amy Pezzoni
I taught myself how to knit out of a book last June.
It was a rough time for our family. My brother's girlfriend had been diagnosed with type B Non-Hodgkin's Nodular Lymphoma in the most advanced state 3-1/2 years earlier.
Tracy was special to everyone who knew her. She had a smile for all, even on her worst days. A wonderful mother, Tracy loved her daughter very much. My brother was transformed when Tracy entered his life; he moved from an existence of drugs and crime, to one of love and parenting. He and Tracy had started dating when she was pregnant, and he had been "Daddy" to her daughter since before she was born.
Tracy was a fighter. She had long held the cancer off - every year she would be proclaimed clear of the cancer, only to discover six months later it had returned. She & my brother would have married, but she would have lost her medical coverage. My brother could not afford her bills and she would not have received the excellent medical treatment that allowed her three and a half more years with her daughter. Tracy's treatments started the day after her daughter turned one.
My own immediate family was going away to a cabin for a few days and I needed a solo activity. I had always wanted to learn to knit, so along came my learn-to-knit book. I completed a dishcloth pattern, then I decided to challenge myself with my next project; a baby blanket I had seen online. The repeating hourglass pattern would be fantastic practice for me, so I cast on and began knitting. About the time we returned from our trip, Tracy began to go downhill quickly.
Upon our return we saw Tracy for her birthday. She was dying. It was hard to find a card that didn't mention the next year or how horrible birthdays were, but I found one that said, "Consider this a hug with a crease in the middle." Tracy spent her birthday in bed, on oxygen, itching terribly from the cancer. She looked so tired, so drained from her long fight and required frequent blood transfusions.
Working on the blanket my thoughts were constantly with Tracy. As I knitted, I raged about her disease. How could a young mother be forced to go through something so horrible? How could she be taken from her bright beautiful daughter, and not be able to see her grow up? She will never see the milestones that other parents can take for granted. I cried into that blanket many times.
The blanket slowly came to belong to Tracy. I started knitting as fast as my beginner hands would let me. I made several mistakes along the way, but was too inexperienced and in too much of a hurry to go back and fix them. Since I had decided that since this blanket was Tracy's, I needed to give it to her. I did not know how much time I had, so I just had to go as quickly as possible.
I kept telling myself I would stop with the next hourglass repeat, but was driven to keep going. The pattern called for seven skeins of yarn, but when I was almost finished with the fourth I received word that Tracy's vitals had cut in half. This was it for her, it was a matter of hours.
I made arrangements for someone to watch my son and grabbed the blanket in progress. My plan was to finish off the blanket right where I was and give it to her. Five minutes into the drive to the hospital 45 minutes away, I called my step-mom to let her know I was on the way. They, too, were on their way to the hospital, but my brother had just called her to tell her that Tracy had passed. It was impossible to drive with my eyes filled with tears of grief, I pulled into the nearest parking lot and cried.
I was sad and angry. I didn't know what to do with myself, so I just cried against the steering wheel and thought of Tracy. Memories of her began to surface and I let them wash over me. I called my friend who was watching my son, and told her the news. When she asked if there was anything she could do, I asked if she would light a candle for Tracy. Thinking about that candle helped me regain enough control to safely drive to the hospital to be there for my brother and her family. At one point I mentioned the blanket to my brother and he told me that she didn't need it anymore.
I finished off the blanket that night. It crossed my mind to complete the entire blanket, but I knew that it would be too painful, and that I would be tempted to put it away. It was important to me that I finish it, even half done. When I saw her daughter a few weeks later, I handed her the blanket. I told her that I had made it for her mommy, and since her mommy couldn't use it, I hoped she would take care of it for her - that she would snuggle with the blanket and remember the love of her mother and our family.
She accepted the blanket and pointed out a star in the night sky. She told me that was the first star of the night, "Mommy said that first star would be her watching over me."
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