A Bazaar Sweater
A small invisible creature with pointy ears, a long nose and very long fingers stalked the halls of the hospice where Mary Graham sat dying. She wasn’t dying precisely at that moment. She was knitting a sweater for her son, but she had been given a diagnosis of terminal cancer from her doctor two months earlier. Now, she sat in a wheel chair in a sunny window working on the back of the neck of the last sweater she would ever knit for her son Alexander. It was a complicated pattern, full of...