A letter to ... my daughter

Hi, hun

The last time we came to your home I found your wool stash. You were knitting some kind of sleeveless vest in a beautiful deep shade of emerald green – one of your favourite colours.

You didn’t start knitting until you were way grown up and discovered it wasn’t so difficult – it just needed a bit of practice.

Your grandmother taught me to knit when I was 5 and I’ve never really stopped. It’s not only creative but at times it’s a kind of comfort thing. I loved knitting your tiny baby clothes and sewing little dresses for you.

There were many hidden treasures in your home; a bag of baby clothes with the shawl I knitted for your first born – a little girl now grown into a beautiful and kind young woman.

I know why you kept these things and it breaksmy heart to know you won’t see them worn. Not wanting to assume anything, I asked if she would like to me to care-take them, so they’re with me now, waiting.

I couldn’t find the pattern you were knitting and brought the wool home to unravel it. It brought on a grief bomb knowing you’d been knitting with this wool but it also made me feel as if you were close.

I washed, skeined and rewound it and it didn’t take long to work out what to knit with it. You loved hats and they looked great on you, especially the slouchy berets.

I knitted myself plenty too, but they seemed to disappear after you visited!

You grew into an autumn woman; colours that I wouldn’t ever have picked for you when you were young. With blue eyes and dark honey hair all the pretty spring colours looked lovely on you. You enjoyed being girly until you decided you liked your taste better than mine. You weren’t ‘‘mainstream’’ – no desire for expensive designer or labelled clothing – and you became the best op shopper ever.

Whenever you stayed, we spent a day trawling the op shops. You whizzed around the racks picking out an armful of clothes, tried them on and came out with at least two or three that looked perfect on you.

I just didn’t have the knack, but you taughtme a thing or two – I don’t think I’ll ever become as adept as you but Imanage to find a few bits and pieces occasionally. One in, one out was your philosophy – a great way to refresh your wardrobe and help the planet!

You were never a ‘‘consumer’’ and your happiness came from spending time with friends and discovering places of natural beauty with your children.

You loved the beauty of nature and the peace and joy it gave you.

And now here I sit with this emerald green wool, knitting a slouchy beret that you will never wear.

I will wear it for you and ‘‘my silent tears will flow for you; my eternal daughter, my unseen angel who parentsmy heart and persuades the moon to send new gifts ashore’’.

Anon

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