January, 2020
We are in a new year, a good time to slough off some excess. But a new year can also be a good time to reflect on your life – where you have been and where you are going - and find ways to embrace the simple things that can bring deeper meaning. This piece I wrote about my grandfather reminds me to do this. I hope you will feel the same.
That Old Sweater
His room didn’t really smell like death – some people say they can smell it. But I didn’t. I just remember feeling the emptiness where a soul had been, but now was not. The room was darkened by the drawn curtains – and the artificial light of the fluorescent overhead bulbs did little to brighten the space. I entered to have one last look. I wasn’t searching for anything in particular, but it just seemed right to go in one last time and perhaps help my mom sort through any of his remaining belongings.
We spend years accumulating things. Households full of furniture, clothing, artwork, travel souvenirs, dishes, papers, awards, electronics, children’s school projects, books and photographs all get stuffed into rooms, cabinets, boxes, basements, attics, closets, shelves and wherever else we can find space to accommodate them. And then we spend years trying to slough off the excess baggage. Some of us are good at it – whittling away our possessions bit by bit to simplify our ageing lives. Others of us are not so organized and leave the task to another generation.
Popeye was a good slougher. Over the years he had pared his life down so that this final room contained what he had left. A colorful, flowery couch with a small table. A chair. A bookshelf and small desk. The nursing home bed that came standard with every room. His closet held a small number of clothing items – drawstring baggy pants, a few shirts, a windbreaker, a warm coat and a few sweaters. The photographs were abundant – reminders of a life well-lived: a portrait of Gam, a picture of him surrounded by his great-grandchildren, a picture of his daughters, a picture of Joanie. There were harmonicas tucked away throughout the room – he always had one, maybe two within arms reach. And of course there were newspapers – days and days worth. The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, The Chicago Tribune and his Economist magazines were in piles around the room – even in his final days, he wanted to stay informed.
I slid my hand across a book, across his magnifying glass that he would use to read and then rested it upon one of his larger harmonicas, my mind conjuring up the tinny notes of Eidelweiss that would carry off in the
wind as Popeye played them on the top of Chocolate Drop while we looked down upon Eatons’ Ranch and Wolf Creek below us. Amazing how 97 years of living can be captured in the simplicity of these
small remaining items.
Mom was gathering up the clothes. Placing items in plastic bags to donate to Goodwill – who wanted a beige “Desert Mountain” windbreaker or a yellow “Shore Acres” golf sweater? My sister and I
shook our heads and the items were shoved into the bag. But then that old sweater, the charcoal black
one hanging in the closet caught my eye. I walked over and ran my hand down the length of the sleeve – the soft cashmere enveloped my fingers. I pulled the fabric to my nose and breathed in my grandfather, his scent still strong within the fibers. I looked at my mom, “May I keep this?” I removed it carefully from the hanger and then embraced my mother in a long hug.
I wear that old sweater often. And there has never been a time that Popeye doesn’t flood my mind as I pull its softness over my head and push my arms into the sleeves. Sometimes I look closely at the tag sewn into the back of the collar: “100% Pure Cashmere Made in Scotland Expressly For S. Fisher of Burlington Arcade by Bryant of Scotland,” and I envision Gam and Popeye sitting side by side on a trans-Atlantic flight,
chatting incessantly as they made their way to England and then shopping together in London and choosing this sweater – a very practical, good quality purchase that would last for years. I think they would smile to know that this old sweater is still being worn – many more years than probably they even expected.
His scent is no longer caught in the threads, but that old sweater carries the memory of his soul and his life, beautifully lived.
Seek Beauty. Guard the Sacred. Celebrate the Individual.
- Ewe Bee U
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