Clothes don't mean much to most people. David is content to wear his most broken in, full of holes khakis everyday. Tony is totally unaware that his shoes are worn out. And well Mike dons his work uniform everyday. The last great dresser I knew was my Grandma Pheobe who always said five great outfits are better than twenty unforgettable ones.
One thing about Joe he was a snappy dresser, and it took inordinate amounts of time to choose his clothes; and I was there for about every decision. So as it comes time to disperse his clothes, every article summons a memory. Therefore it has become difficult for me to let them go. It was one of our connections, a languid time of shopping, him asking repeatedly if it was right; can I do better.
I remember the time when he anguished about a striped shirt, or when we purchased the North Face jacket at Penn State during a water polo tournament, the tie given to him from the store manager at Brooks Brothers in Knoxville just because she was proud he was going to McCallie. His white pants he graduated in, his McCallie tie, and the hat and gloves given to him by the Green's his freshman year at Penn.
I can't let them go out of the house unceremoniously, without reverence, with the possibility of not being able to touch them and remember. So I have decided the most important articles will be made into a quilt. One that will wrap me up in my son's memory everyday.
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