After my dad passed away, years ago, my mom handed me the wool sweater he wore daily. For him, it was a source of warmth and comfort. “Do you think Rudy would like this?” she asked me. I was certain that Rudy would indeed like the sweater. What she may not have realized is that I loved it. Wanted it for myself. When I returned home later that day, I mentioned to Rudy that my mom thought he might like the sweater. He reached for it just as I stretched out my arm toward him, willing it over. He slipped one arm in, then the other, knowing immediately it was too snug for his comfort. “Ah, too bad,” I said. Yet, I was happy. That meant the Irish cardigan would belong solely to me.

I have always loved the fact that the sweater was not something that had been stashed away in a drawer back at my dad’s house, an old treasure or something; but rather a valuable piece of clothing that would be a part of my life, throughout my days. A reminder of my dad, a person I adored.

About a week later, I walked into my mom’s house wearing the sweater. “Well, it didn’t fit Rudy. So, I am going to keep it,” I said, big smile on my face. “Oh, I like it on you!” she stated. Then, she handed me a watch. The watch that had been given to my dad, as a retirement gift, from his position as a college professor. “Since you collect watches, I figured you’d like to add this to your collection.” She placed it in my open hand. An Omega. A watch that works with the rhythm of my pulse, keeping not only track of time, but the month and the date as well. I flipped it over. My dad’s name was inscribed on the back. “Thank you, Mom. I love it. Just like I love Dad’s sweater.” I hugged her small frame gently.

To this day, I wear both items. The watch regularly. The sweater a cold winter days. Both gently soothe the emotions of my heart.