An Old Flannel Shirt

An old flannel shirt with two button up the front pockets Well-worn, soft, in faded colors of greens, reds, and blues. A touch of green, and some bits of yellow, almost Christmas like. It was my father’s favorite shirt; he wore it more days than not. I watched him wear it for many years, maybe twenty. When I see it, I think of him. When I smell it, he comes back fast. He has been gone ten years this April, but when I miss him I run to my closet and grab out his shirt, which smells like him. Bringing his hazel eyes and his wavy dark hair into my memory. I remember being thrown into the air, I remember funny things he said. I remember the way I would catch his eye and we would laugh about nothing. He was my daddy and I loved him, and I am glad to have his shirt. After his death, my mother asked me if I wanted anything. I grabbed this shirt, shocked my siblings had not already grabbed it. If thieves come, they can take everything else in my house but not this. This is mine, it smells like my Daddy, and it brings me comfort.