Wearing Traces of Him
My father was a little odd about buying things, specifically clothes. He never wore anything that had any labels or any other traces of a brand. He always said that wearing them was basically free advertising.
He bought his clothes a little bit oversized. My father was over six feet tall and of average build. He said he didn't like clothes fitting too close.
I knew that he didn't quite like it when I wore his sweaters, but they were cozy.
When he died I slept for days in the same forest green fraying sweatshirt. I knew it looked like it swallowed me, but in a way I already thought that the world had swallowed me.
Mom slept with his shirts rolled up and under her pillow for over a year. His clothes were the only articles that still smelled like him. When I wore them I still felt like he was there. When I wore them I felt safe.
Giving away his clothing was really hard to do. I was sometimes afraid to walk into their closet because the clothes lingered there, like apparitions. His side of the closet became a graveyard.
I told mom I was only going to keep a couple of his shirts. I only wear them when I miss him or when there is something heavy that is weighing me down.
Sometimes after the day is over and I'm laying in bed with the forest green sweatshirt on, I'll shut my eyes and wrap my arms around myself. The sweatshirt still smells like him, even after 3 years, even after it being washed over and over again.
Written: 2.2.17
He bought his clothes a little bit oversized. My father was over six feet tall and of average build. He said he didn't like clothes fitting too close.
I knew that he didn't quite like it when I wore his sweaters, but they were cozy.
When he died I slept for days in the same forest green fraying sweatshirt. I knew it looked like it swallowed me, but in a way I already thought that the world had swallowed me.
Mom slept with his shirts rolled up and under her pillow for over a year. His clothes were the only articles that still smelled like him. When I wore them I still felt like he was there. When I wore them I felt safe.
Giving away his clothing was really hard to do. I was sometimes afraid to walk into their closet because the clothes lingered there, like apparitions. His side of the closet became a graveyard.
I told mom I was only going to keep a couple of his shirts. I only wear them when I miss him or when there is something heavy that is weighing me down.
Sometimes after the day is over and I'm laying in bed with the forest green sweatshirt on, I'll shut my eyes and wrap my arms around myself. The sweatshirt still smells like him, even after 3 years, even after it being washed over and over again.
Written: 2.2.17
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