Love and a Sweater

On Mom's 16th Christmas, her parents gave her a black wool ski sweater from the Darien Sport Shop. It was a big purchase and a treasured gift; Mom wore it in a portrait she made of her self for her grandmother.  The photo stood in the front window of Park Lane for as long as my Gram was alive; then, it came home with Mom.  Now it hangs in my home--where the black sweater also has a safe place. 

Shortly after Mom passed last November, Dad took me to her closet and told me to take her sweaters.  There were sixty of them; it took a while.  It was hard.  Dad watched as I took down and packed up his gifts to her over so many Christmases.  There were Aran sweaters, turtlenecks, Icelandics, cashmere cardigans, pullovers.  And then some.  There were long 90's-style tunics, boxy 80s pullovers, and patterned winter sweaters.

There was also the black sweater that Mom kept with her for 62 years.  I wore it to school a few times when I was in high school.  I felt no drafts those days.  When I got the sweaters home last November, I folded them up and put them by for safe keeping.  When I shook open the treasure from the
sports store, a little note fell out apprising the reader that the sweater was a gift to Mom from her parents on her 16th Christmas.  I knew that, but she told me anyway.  I wore it to work today.  Again, no drafts.  I felt the warmth of Mom's love and her parents' love.  I am grateful for that Yankee frugality that values the staying power of well-made things and the respect that knows genuine love when it sees it.