My mom was prone to starting projects she never finished.
She would get halfway through or nearly done and lose a knitting needle or run out of wool or misplace the pattern or start something else or just stop. When we moved them out of their house I found bags of unfinished sweaters. I took them all home, thinking one day I would pick up where she left off. I never did.
But there was one sweater she finished for my dad that he wore everywhere. Made up of brightly coloured squares on a grey background. When he died I did not have the heart to throw it away.
For 6 years it has sat in the back of my closet. I thought to myself, "If I ever have a really bad day, I will wear Dad's sweater." When I needed my dad's wisdom and kindness and faith and passion for justice, the sweater would wrap me in warmth, reminding me of who I was and where I came from and what I believe in.
I am wearing it today.