You’re Doing What With The Sweater?

I've started a project that Mom would call me crazy for attempting…

I have a sweater that I bought before Camo was born. I LOVE this sweater. Sadly, after only about six months of use, it started to come apart at the neckline. Now, I'm a pretty competent seamstress and knitter, but this was beyond my ability to repair. Still, I love the color and fiber in this sweater, and I can't bear to throw it out. It has sit, ignored, for almost a year now. Then, I had an idea…

It started when I read a blog post about how to unravel and re-use yarn from a sweater. Apparently, buying sweaters at yard sales and thrift shops, then unraveling them to use the yarn in a new project, is quite the hobby for some folks. This intrigued me. I began to think, what if I unraveled that sweater and made a new sweater or maybe a shawl out of the yarn? Brilliant! Now, the yarn in this sweater is REALLY thin. Sock yarn weight or smaller, maybe lace weight. Tiny, really tiny. That alone might confirm my insanity. But let's take this one step further. I have to painstakingly pick out the stitches in the seams before I can even begin to unravel. At this rate, I may have the darn thing unraveled and ready to knit into something else in time for Munchkin's wedding…

If Mom was here, she would laugh when I told her my plan, tell me I was crazy, suggest that simply buying yarn might be the easier route to go, and then pick up a seam ripper and help me pick out the millions of stitches that must be on that sweater. Then, when it's finally in pieces, she would grab a sleeve and start unraveling, pausing to laugh and tell me how crazy I am, and how crazy she must be for volunteering to help.

I find reminders of Mom everywhere. I've gotten through the first week of shock, and now the ache seems to be setting in. The realization that there is a huge hole in my life where Mom used to be. Life goes on, and truly we don't grieve like those with no hope, but the grief is still there. It's not more than we can bear, God promised us that, but it's still there. I'll always miss her. I'll always feel like something is missing. I'll always laugh and cry when I think of her, when I think of what she would be doing or saying if she was here now. Really, I can't bring myself to wish her back. But now, more than ever, I hope Jesus comes back soon. I'm ready to go home, are you?