Knitting Our Love Together

These sweaters are a testament to the incredible art my mother (Barbara Fallon Humphrey 1/4/1928 to 1/24/2021) could knit. They were made for my daughter, who was her first granddaughter. While my mother had 7 children, four of them daughters, I am the only daughter who in turn had a daughter. This means that my mother’s line of mtDNA is continued on through my daughter with a direct line back to the Mitochondrial Eve.

To explain this theory (per my not very medically savvy perspective) the genetic material you carry in your nuclear DNA is a merger between your mother’s and father’s DNA. This is referred to as mtDNA, and is essentially derived from your mother - your father’s DNA powered the sperm to get you started. This means that mtDNA is inherited solely from the maternal line; only the mother's side survives in our DNA from generation to generation. Research has traced our mtDNA back to a single woman about 200,000 years ago. A mother who gives birth only to sons will see her mtDNA lineage lost. 

My mother, in turn, carried forward her mother’s mtDNA as her sister, my aunt, had a daughter who only had sons. My paternal grandmother only had sons, so her line has ended, as her mother (my paternal great grandmother) was an only daughter as was my grandmother. I like to think about the poetry of this weaving of cells and creation as I look at my mother’s amazing knitted art.

Mom told me that as a young girl in Chicago, she rode her bike to the Marshall Field’s Department Store on State Street to learn to knit. (I love the fact that the old Fields had a knitting department.) The women there taught her to make mittens – mind you she was likely 12. Two friends I was telling this to were aghast - not because as a 12-year-old she traveled alone to Fields, but because they’ve knit for years and still haven’t tried to make a pair of mittens! From there, mom found a passion and created unbelievable works of art in yarn. That said, my mother’s ability to communicate her love with words was not a strength of hers, and she and I had a fractious relationship when I was younger.

In 1992 I visited my parents with my husband and baby son. During the visit I struggled with how disengaged my parents were. As a new mother, I couldn’t understand why they did not join on walks, trips to the beach or bedtime rituals. This upset me, but when I returned home, I realized my mom expressed her love through the things she made for my son – a sweater and Easter bunny toy as I recall. I sent her a package – likely with photos and Frango Mints from Marshall Field’s -with a note where I expressed this. She wrote back:

5-13-92

Dear Erica,

All the goodies arrived today, and I must say your letter made me proud of you! Your comments about me were very mature; I don’t believe I was that far along in my twenties. You are right that I’m not emotionally expressive. It has to do with the culture I grew up in, and it must have suited my nature since I have found it hard to change. I have always sensed that you and [a sister] particularly needed more affection than I was able to give, but I’m sure all of you [siblings] would have benefited.

I love you very much, and you’re lucky to have [your husband] and your beautiful baby boy. It struck a real chord when you described me as doing things for the one’s I loved; my mother was identical in her expressions. Your nature is such you can do both!

As I’ve aged, I have come to understand the threads that connect my mother and grandmother to me. While I have worked hard to express with words my love to my family, it is not always easy to overcome the genetic predispositions we inherit. Some is nurture certainly, but there is definitely a common thread running through my line, desiring to make things of beauty and gift those things. Often that gift is the best way we can express our love. Now people recognize “love languages” more so than they did as I grew up, but a love language, it seems, can also be inherited.

My relationship with Mom healed as I got older, and I know she relied on me for support as she aged. I still have many of the sweaters she made for me and my children, and these two are hanging in my sewing room. Much like sweaters, our memories from our ancestors can unravel – each generation loses a bit of the stories and details of prior generations. To keep these stories alive, we often keep family heirlooms. But there, too, the stories connecting them to us disappear over time. While we appreciate that these things came from distant relatives, the memories begin to grow holes. Unless it is written down. So, write down the stories behind your cherished belongings – do not rely on told stories as they fade or become confused. Do not lose the lineage of your family heirlooms to time. These treasures are our link to history, and a touchstone to the weaving of our genetic inheritance.