At Home - In My Dresser

  In My Dresser

          I came across Mamaw’s nightgown the other day when I was rummaging through my dresser. She’s been dead for three years now. After her funeral, her belongings were moved to my parents’ house where family divided her stuff. Most of it wasn’t worth much. And I didn’t take much. I have some of her cookbooks. I collect cookbooks, and Aunt Robin said I should have them. My son took a coat rack that says, “Believe”. It is outdated and tacky, but it is mounted in my foyer and holds my sons’ coats.

            While I am writing this, I am wearing the gray robe I took. Mamaw had several, so I thought it was fine to take this one. I like it because it is soft and I can wrap myself in it. I wear it nearly every evening. It smells like me now. Like nothing.

            The pink gown with the little white flowers printed on it that I found in my dresser drawer the other day still smelled like Mamaw. I've never worn it. Three years and her smell was still there, locked in a drawer. I put my face into the folded gown. I smothered myself in the aroma—a mix of Charlie perfume, soaps, and my Mamaw. I breathed in deep and wondered how long I would be able to smell her. How many more years or months before her fragrance would disappear into my own, become imperceptible, invisible, until I forgot what she smelled like.

            I put the gown back in my drawer.

            I closed her gray robe tighter around myself and went downstairs to my family.