arms of love

So I don't really know what to write. I have been wearing my mothers sweater all day today. I put it on this morning when I sat down to crotchet. Mom started an afghan for my baby before she (mom) died. She worked on it when she could but just got too weak to finish it. I would guess it is about 1/7 complete.
Mom remembered that I had said yellow would be a good color. She remembered that I love them to be larger so the children can keep using them even after they are no longer toddlers. So she started the yellow and white afghan it is wide. Now I have it and get to make it long.
They couldn't find more of the yellow she had used, so my sister bought me more of the same yellow. As I am extending the blanket it is evident that though the same color, the yarn is of a different batch. To me, that is a tender mercy. Now we will always know what was my mom's work and where I came in.
This time mom was trying a bit more extensive pattern than she did on my other childrens' afghans. In trying to figure it out (it is her own), I have realized that she wasn't perfectly consistent in the different sections. I think that is a sign of the effort it took her to even work on it at all. She really wanted to do it. She made sure my sister knew about it and would get it to me after her death.
On time Mom told me that she loved making the afghans for her grandbabies. She loved the warmth they provided her as she snuggled in them adding to them and thinking of them warming her grandbabies in the future.
Today I thought of my mom working on this same afghan that I now work on. The love she had for me and my baby, who probably wasn't even born the last time mom could pick up her hook. I lay the blanket accross my lap and two other children and we enjoyed its warmth as I worked on it. When my baby was awake, I dangled it above her. She grabbed it with joy. It is the right color for my little sunshine. I want to finish it soon so she can really use it. But I am grateful for the arms of love I get to wrap around me as I finish the afghan my mother started. My mother's love lives on just as she does. This afghan and her sweater are only tangible things for th knowledge I have of her and her love.