The Afghan

In the late 70s, I crocheted a Christmas gift for my parents. An afghan made of left-overs yarns. I made it extra large for no apparent reason. Dad was diagnosed with cancer shortly after that Christmas. He was 57. By the grace of God, he lived for 9.5 years through struggles with experimental treatments and the tortuous side-effects. Covered with the afghan, he told me it was so warm--just what he needed.

After Dad's passing, Mom told me that the nights were the loneliest time. She'd wrap herself in the afghan late at night and mourn my Dad. It has been two years now, since Mother passed. Yes, she was soothed by the afghan during her final illness.

I didn't want the afghan back. I told my sister No. My husband put it in a box for me. I could not deal with that afghan. It stayed packed for over a year and a half. I recently brought it out. I did not wash it. It had the scent of my Mother. Now, as I deal with chronic illness, I wrap in the old afghan. Warm in the arms of my parents.

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I will walk among you; I will be your God, and you will be my people. Leviticus 26:12