In the fall of 1987 I received a bad diagnosis from my doctor and moved into my parents' house for a couple months to recover from surgeries and chemotherapy. During that time my mother, who by then had resumed her knitting practice, asked if I would like a sweater, and I said Yes, can I design the back of it? and she said, Yes, of course!
After selecting the style (zip-up front, no collar), she gave me a sheet of gridded paper on which to plot my design. What I came up with was pictorial and based on drives I had taken through the deserts of the southwestern U.S., though my mother cautioned me it could end up looking more like a Chuck Jones Coyote/Roadrunner landscape than anything I might recall from my travels.
She was right, of course. Not that I loved it any less.
Truth be told, I didn't get a lot of wear out of my "desert sweater", but I liked having it around, taking it out on cold days to wear over my pyjamas while I watched TV or read. More a security blanket with arms than anything I would wear in public. But as the years wore on, I came to associate the sweater with my illness, or at least that part of my illness I wanted to be clear of. Chemotherapy (vinblastin, cisplatin) was brutal, the hardest thing I have ever endured, and I hope I never again have to go through it.
Last year, in an effort to add space to my life, I went through my clothes and ended up keeping only one-tenth of them. Some were made into rags, though most were given to the Salvation Army. There were some nice articles, a good portion of which I shared with friends and their children, and what wasn't wanted I took to Natalie at Woo, who gave me cash and credit. Among these clothes was the desert sweater.
It was while going through my clothes with Natalie that I noticed one of the two front pockets on the sweater was moth-eaten. I attempted to withdraw it, but she said no, she could fix it, and I appreciated that.
A couple weeks ago I stopped into Woo and Natalie told me she had my sweater in her window and that it caused a brief sensation. A number of people had asked to try it on, with one of them coming back to buy it, and a few more coming by after that to ask if it was still for sale. I asked if she had a picture of it in her window, and she said she did and would send it to me. That night I phoned my mother to tell her, and she said she remembered knitting the sweater, but not what it looked like. I emailed her the picture and it all came flooding back. Happily, tearfully -- because there was a part of her that thought I wouldn't make it.
