"A Shawl for Anita"

by: Lolita Andrada

My mother brought us up single-

handedly. It was an extraordinary task
for a woman so frail, dealing with three
adolescent children. But she managed.
She never finished high school, but her
deft hands had skilfully 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.

The rest of us did not want 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.