07/04/2025
This sweater is heavy. I mean, yes, it is bulky and pure wool, created for warmth and coziness. But the heaviness is symbolic too - an allegory of sorts.
Begun about three years ago as a request by someone dear to me as a gift for someone he loved, he helped me pick the pattern and the yarn. I began to knit, full of anticipation of what her reaction might be, whether she would like the color and texture he had so thoughtfully chosen. Would I be done by Christmas, or perhaps her birthday? A little prayer with each stitch, that she would be well and feel loved beyond the cozy warmth this sweater would offer. I don't always have the right words; I am a doer. How can I help? Do you need a hug or perhaps a warm meal? Sure, I'll cuddle a fussy baby, even walk the floor with her if need be. I will listen to your story and try not to offer advice when only encouragement or the comfort of a silent but compassionate friend is needed. Imperfect but willing, hoping that you will feel my care through an act of service or a thoughtful gift and overlook my lack of eloquence. He is this way too - quiet but steady, a strong hug, a warm meal for a hurting heart or hungry stomach. It grew hotter, and summer came, and the heavy wool was uncomfortable to work with. As the days grew longer, so did the body of this heavy sweater. I put it aside, thinking I'd pick it up in the fall and finish it by Christmas. The thought filled me with excitement, as it would be the first Christmas spent together in years, as well as the first with her. However, as the summer drew to an end, the relationship sputtered, and hearts began to grow cold. I continued to knit and pray, pleading for softer hearts and better days. No answer, no change, just deafening silence, defeat. And then she was gone, away from us for reasons I couldn't comprehend. Could I have said something to soothe the pain, helped in any way? Sad, confused, and grieving, I had no words and no idea what to do. For months, the pain was searing, and I couldn't look at this sweater, let alone bear to feel the weight of it on my lap. So it sat, out of the way and untouched, incomplete, powerless to provide warmth to anyone. And then, a gentle prodding - pick it up, finish what was started, knit a silent prayer into each stitch, searching for peace, love, forgiveness, for her, for him, for myself, needing a measure of grace for the imperfections of others, as well as my own. I continued on, I knit and prayed, and knit some more. I chuckled when I found a small mistake several rows back, it was so obvious to me, while inconspicuous to others, and too many rows back to easily unravel and fix. I carried on, I would appreciate this sweater for what it was, and is, although it was imperfect, I would be thankful for what I had learned during its completion, a certain graciousness and gratitude, mingled with grief. So now it sits, finished and lovely, ready for a new wearer, who, as of now, is a mystery. The story is unfinished, and the future is not knowable, it is too late to go back and unravel the past, fixing mistakes. Instead, I pray for her, for him, and for myself, for softer hearts and better days, looking forward to glimpses of grace for others, and gratitude for what we have learned, even through this grief. Yes, this sweater is heavy, but there is a certain warmth and comfort within it.
