Write this scene. A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry.
There is a cool breeze coming in across the lake. Robert and I stroll hand in hand along the concrete path. Fall is here. There are children on bicycles, roller blades and on the playground. A rather rotund woman sits on the bench knitting and watching the children play. I play a game, “What’s her story?”
She is bundled up in a heavy woolen jacket, knit gloves with the fingers exposed, and a knit hat pulled down over her ears. Has she been sitting here long? Did she bring her grandchildren? Or is she remembering bringing her own children here? No one acknowledges her presence and she does not seem to care. She is content. I imagine that she is expecting a new grandchild and looking forward to bringing him to the park, warm and secure in his new red sweater.
I turn to Robert, he has tears in his eyes. “I wish Mom could have been here for the birth of our baby. She would have knit a sweater for her.”
A sweet young woman with an energetic puppy approaches us. The woman on the bench smiles and waves and the young woman runs to sit next to her. The furry little puppy barks and jumps into the woman’s lap; he licks her face. They are all very happy to be together. The woman holds up the little red sweater; it’s a perfect fit for the little puppy.