I know it’s technically just a shirt; I completely understand that.
Yet, it’s also so much more than that.
At least, I think it is…
It was actually brand new the first [and perhaps last] time I wore it. The gorgeous thing arrived in the mail just days before I hopped the kind of midnight flight you usually only book at the last minute in the case of a family emergency.
The blouse wasn’t anything spectacular in itself back then, but I also knew the moment I saw and held it for the first time that it would fit me perfectly…
And, sure enough, that soft t-shirt blouse looked pretty great when I put it on for the first time just hours after reaching my destination. It was as if that top was made for me.
However, what I didn’t realize as I nonchalantly slipped into my new shirt that morning is that I was actually in the process of greeting a day I‘ll never forget for the rest of my life.
Here’s the thing:
Within [about] an hour of putting on that top for the first time (9:30 A.M. or so), I watched my grandmother die before my very eyes (10:27 A.M., to be exact), held her lifeless hands in my own for as long as I possibly could, did what I could not to cry over her corpse, and whispered all the things I never got a chance to tell her during the final years of her life in the hopes her spirit would hear me before departing that room. It was in that t-shirt [which I actually selected for that visit in the hopes she’d have liked it on another day many years ago when she could’ve still appreciated it] that I kissed her wrinkled forehead, stroked her stark white hair, gripped her withered hands as she’d always done mine, and touched her for the last time.
That was the blouse that I had on as my grandmother passed away upon her actual deathbed, just feet away from me. In that, it’ll be marked in my mind forevermore as a shirt unlike all the others I own.