My mother brought to me a cardboard box filled with items of my father's - wool sweaters, a couple of baseball hats, a fleece jacket, sweatshirts - several things I picked out when she asked me to, several months ago. It was hard, standing in their closet at the end of the bedroom, going through things, and seeing the photos he had kept - of me and my sister as young children, me in my ballet tutu (blue with a red rose on the chest), her in her nightgown, also "being a ballerina"- of him holding me when I was newly born. One of my great regrets is that he never got to meet his grandson.
So now I had this box, and a couple of days ago I took the woolens out and washed them, soaking them in the washing machine with some Kookaburra Wash, spinning them out, and laying them out to dry on our drying rack. Five sweaters, sheepswool, lambswool, and cashmere, some of which I had bought for him. He had never liked wool too much because of its scratchiness, but I started getting him lambswool, smooth merino sweaters, and cashmere (sometimes secondhand and carefully washed, sometimes on seasonal sales), which he enjoyed. Yesterday they were all dry, and I folded them and placed them in a drawer, feeling quite odd.
The temperature is dropping, of course. This morning I pulled out the rust-colored heathery sweater and put it on. I miss him so much. There is so much I would like to say to him, like, I am sorry for my selfishness and impatience. I love you. I miss you.
2 comments:
Your post made me cry. I miss my dad, too. And I get so sad when I think about how much he would have loved his grandbaby and how much his grandbaby would have loved him. I am so glad you have your dad's beautiful sweaters. Wooly hugs.
Thanks sweetie. Thinking warm hugs at you.
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