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.

Jennifer Estes

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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.

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Jennifer Estes

I am a widow, a mortician, a mom, and grandma. I write about grief, caregiving, substance use disorder, and the death care industry.