I cried when I pulled it out of the box.
It’s ugly. It’s brown and it’s ugly. It was bought by my Aunt Dianne as a gift for my grandmother and it’s the ugliest brown sweater I’ve ever laid eyes on. I hate the stupid thing.
Gram had gone up north to visit Aunt Dianne and her family. While there, they went on a shopping trip. Gram saw this sweater and fell in love with the color. In its day, the sweater was probably really lovely, but time and wear have since dulled the color. It’s fuzzy and faded and thin from years of being beaten in the washing machine. And as a child, I remember my grandmother wearing that thing all the time. In the old picture box there are probably dozens of photos of Gram wearing it. I recall the time when I was a teenager, (and hugely into fashion-wear,) my cousin Jeannie and I told her it was time to get rid of it. “It’s UGH-leeee!” we pleaded. She simply smiled and gently told us she could never toss it out, and she told us that she kept it because it reminded her of Dianne. Even my grandfather, Pepé, would tell us to look beyond the sweater, and to quit bugging Gram about it. You see, not long after that shopping trip in the late summer of 1973, Aunt Dianne was in a terrible car accident and died tragically.
When Gram passed away in 1999, my mother inherited the sweater. Dianne was her only sibling, and my grandfather had died in 1994. For Mom, this sweater was a link to all three of them. Dianne for purchasing it, Gram for wearing it, and Pepé for tolerating it. Mom used to wear it around the house, but after being told it was not exactly the best looking sweater, she brought it to work to keep there. Her desk was near a window, and although the place was heated well, the building could have used an update in the window department as it was a bit drafty. I would pop in on mom at work occasionally, and I would catch her wearing that blasted cardigan. I couldn’t believe she would wear it in public! And her co-workers knew it had been her mother’s sweater. I don’t think anyone there ever told her it was ugly. They probably would’ve just told her it was “out of fashion”, if they said anything at all. Mom didn’t care; she wore it anyway.
But now that dumb, ugly brown cardigan has come into my possession. I never wanted it, yet I’ll never get rid of it. I can’t toss it or hand it off. Mom passed away only a few months ago. The ladies at her office packed up all the stuff in her desk and her little corner by the window. There was twenty-eight years of stuff; paperweights, photos of her kids and grandkids, a few wall trinkets, a broken umbrella, a couple of coffee mugs, and the sweater. That stupid sweater. I hate it.
I tell myself I’ll never wear it. Maybe I never will, but I might. For now, it hangs in the closet among my own dresses and blouses. As I carefully hung it on a nice padded hanger to keep it from stretching out more than it already has, and smoothed it out against the other clothes, I’m sure I heard the newer, more fashionable items twittering and chittering to each other about the old, ugly cardigan in their midst. But there it hangs, patiently sharing the wisdom of its years with the newer clothing.
As weeks goes by, I find myself reaching into the depths of my closet, just to touch it, feel it, and even pull the sleeve out and nuzzle it against my cheek. But I’ll never wear it. No, not me. It’s too dated. Out of style. Over worn and frazzled. I tell myself I’ll just let it stay in the dark closet.
But no. I’ve actually pulled it out. I’ve worn it around the house. I’ve even worn it out in public. I don’t care what people might say. For me, it signifies comfort, strength, family, and familiarity. It’s warm and worn soft from years of wear. It’s been stretched and pulled by many little hands, trying to get our grandmother’s attention, or by the little hands of my boys, my niece and nephews tugging on it to get my mom’s attention. And now, it’s my turn. As I wore it the other day, I felt a slight tug to my left. As I looked down, I saw my grandson grinning up at me, they way we did as children, the way my and my brother’s children did… The cycle continues.
And it all started with that old, ugly brown sweater. I love that thing.
1 Comment
November 6, 2008 at 3:05:19 am
I love your sentiments! Thank you so much for sharing such a touching story. There are some things in life that just never go out of style.
Bethany~