His Shirt

I pull it close to my face, and my tears stream down my cheeks and onto the soft fabric. His smell is long gone.

Photo by the author — the last shirt he ever wore.

It has been one year and twenty-nine days since my sweet Tom died. Yesterday felt like I was transported back to a year ago; I cried all day. Tears mixed with sobs, talking to him all day, begging him to come and get me.