People don’t quite understand the significance of the clothing she wears. Oftentimes, it is assumed by her peers that she simply likes oversized sweaters and flannels. She must simply enjoy the clothes from times that aren’t her own.
The clothing she wears, though, is the only way she can hold on to those whom she’d never met: grandparents, great-grandparents, distant relatives.
The fibers cling together, resemblant to the way she tries to hold her own composure; somehow miraculously intact while seemingly on the verge of breaking. There is so much love housed in these threads, and each individual filament contains an indescribable sense of belonging without a particular reason.
The fibers cling together in a way resemblant to the way she tries to hold her own composure; somehow miraculously intact while seemingly on the verge of breaking.
The place of each piece is never unknown in the otherwise jumbled pile of clothes from which she randomly picks her ensemble.
The red flannel from her great-grandpa weaves its way into her wardrobe frequently; its presence in her closet is one that she finds essential to her daily life.
When at a loss for what to wear when it’s cold out, she resorts to the purple-maroon fleece-lined jacket from her grandma. Every morning, she has to touch at least one of the jackets or the flannels or the sweaters. She needs to carry that extra love with her through the day.
The bright red flannel may be the most eye-catching of her more commonly worn articles, but her other great-grandpa’s gray flannel, handmade by his wife, maintains its spot on her shelf. Her grandpa’s sweaters–albeit multiple sizes too big–are her favorites to wear, as they bring her a sense of security that she had never been fortunate enough to experience from the man himself.
Her grandmother’s clothing dominates her closet, though. The sweaters from later in her grandma’s life, the jackets with which she has so many memories, and the fleeces that the woman had worn so frequently allow her to regain the connection that had been lost with the woman’s age. Even each handmade garment from her grandma’s college days in the 1950s holds a special place in her bedroom; they’re always there, but she never can bring herself to wear them. However intact they may be, there’s a creeping fear that she’ll mess them up; she’s terrified that she will over-wear the clothing and tarnish the memories they hold.
But, even if she doesn’t realize it, every single memory in the apparel passed through the hands of people so loving and so kind has simply amalgamated into something more; the coalescence of these features makes her who she is.
They allow her to feel more connected to them than ever before. Through the pictures, videos, and clothing alike, she is finally given that freedom.
They transfer these beautiful qualities from generations before onto her, and they contribute directly to the person she is becoming and the person that she will become.
So, she wears the clothes of those who have gone before their time, for these clothes allow her to know the people she has never met.
