Soon after the pandemic started, my mother joined the seemingly endless throng of people cleaning out their closets. I walked in on her one day trying on the wedding dress my grandmother had sewn for her, last worn when my parents married 25 years ago. The fabric was beautifully preserved. “I wonder what to do with it,” my mom mused. A few weeks later, I found a pile of handmade white silk masks on top of my bedspread. When in-person classes finally resumed, I wore the labor of two generations’ love.