I found it in a drawer, neatly folded. It was charcoal gray, a heavy flannel material. My mom had asked me to pack up his things so that they could be donated. I packed everything else, but I kept the shirt.
I don’t think I ever saw him wear it. And I am sure he did not buy it himself. It was probably given to him by one of my siblings as a present. Whenever we were at a loss as to what to buy him for Christmas, a shirt was always a safe gift to buy. It looked like it would be really warm.
When I got home I hung it in my closet. Often when I chose my clothes for the day, I would see it and smile. The first time I remember wearing it was the day we drove to Milwaukee to my uncle’s funeral. He was the youngest of my dad’s siblings. He was also the last. It was an extremely cold day, as I recall below zero with a nasty wind-chill. It was appropriate for the weather and I felt like I had my dad along to pay my final respects to his younger brother. And it was really warm.
It is a comfort, this shirt. I wore it recently to work when I knew it was going to be a tough shift. It is a tangible piece of him. I loved my dad and after 6 years I still miss him.
Right now, I am wearing his shirt.
Love this for what it says about your relationship with your father. In that, you were lucky.
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