"A Shawl for Anita"
Lolita M. Andrada
My mother brought us up single-handedly. It was a
Herculean task for a woman so frail, dealing with three
adolescent children. But she managed. She never finished
high school, but her deft hands had skillfully eked out a
living for the four of us. She was good at knitting. That tided
us over until the eldest got a diploma of teaching. Then she
put up a sari-sari store to send the other children to college.
Mother wanted us all to start a college degree and she had
sacrificed much to see us through.
Mother had a soft heart - especially for Anita. Anita
was the youngest, and I, being the middle child, had always
envied her. She was sickly and Mother willingly indulged
her. My sister's whimpers never irked her. She was ever so
gentle with her when I impatient and jealous. I never
understood my mother.
My mother who had always been a frail woman
was much thinner now. Anita who was married by now had
never stopped being pampered. Her lack of concern for our
mother's failing health was getting on my nerves. I felt like
shouting at her, calling her names when I heard her ask
Mother to knit a shawl for her. Mother could hardly refuse,
but I knew that the task was just too much for her. Her
fingers had lost their flexibility; rheumatic pain told on her
knuckles that felt a million pins pricking. My heart went out
to her every time I saw her painfully the knitting needles
into the yarn.
I never wanted to see Mother lift a finger. She was
too old to work, and we wanted to save her the burden of
doing even the lightest household chores. Mother said she
felt useless being cooped up in the house all day, doing
nothing. That was before Anita sweet talked her into
knitting her shawl. I was beginning to hate Anita for being
so callous.
Knitting the shawl might have been an agony for
Mother, but she never showed any pain. At the end of the
day, she would look at her handiwork, a smile on her lips as
she held it against her. Knitting proved to be a slow process,
but Mother didn't mind, I did and when Anita showed up
one day to visit Mother I scolded her for being so
thoughtless.
Anita touched my arm and in a gentle voice said, "I
did it for Mother. That shawl is giving her reason to live. She
was wasting away, didn't you notice? She felt so useless
because she had nothing to do, no matter how small.
Mother is one person who prefers to live her life working. If
she stops working, she will stop living."
I nodded my head. Perhaps Anita was right I was
beginning to understand my mother
"A Shawl for Anita"
Lolita M. Andrada
My mother brought us up single-handedly. It was a
Herculean task for a woman so frail, dealing with three
adolescent children. But she managed. She never finished
high school, but her deft hands had skillfully eked out a
living for the four of us. She was good at knitting. That tided
us over until the eldest got a diploma of teaching. Then she
put up a sari-sari store to send the other children to college.
Mother wanted us all to start a college degree and she had
sacrificed much to see us through.
Mother had a soft heart - especially for Anita. Anita
was the youngest, and I, being the middle child, had always
envied her. She was sickly and Mother willingly indulged
her. My sister's whimpers never irked her. She was ever so
gentle with her when I impatient and jealous. I never
understood my mother.
My mother who had always been a frail woman
was much thinner now. Anita who was married by now had
never stopped being pampered. Her lack of concern for our
mother's failing health was getting on my nerves. I felt like
shouting at her, calling her names when I heard her ask
Mother to knit a shawl for her. Mother could hardly refuse,
but I knew that the task was just too much for her. Her
fingers had lost their flexibility; rheumatic pain told on her
knuckles that felt a million pins pricking. My heart went out
to her every time I saw her painfully the knitting needles
into the yarn.
I never wanted to see Mother lift a finger. She was
too old to work, and we wanted to save her the burden of
doing even the lightest household chores. Mother said she
felt useless being cooped up in the house all day, doing
nothing. That was before Anita sweet talked her into
knitting her shawl. I was beginning to hate Anita for being
so callous.
Knitting the shawl might have been an agony for
Mother, but she never showed any pain. At the end of the
day, she would look at her handiwork, a smile on her lips as
she held it against her. Knitting proved to be a slow process,
but Mother didn't mind, I did and when Anita showed up
one day to visit Mother I scolded her for being so
thoughtless.
Anita touched my arm and in a gentle voice said, "I
did it for Mother. That shawl is giving her reason to live. She
was wasting away, didn't you notice? She felt so useless
because she had nothing to do, no matter how small.
Mother is one person who prefers to live her life working. If
she stops working, she will stop living."
I nodded my head. Perhaps Anita was right I was
beginning to understand my mother