Daddy’s Shirt
Thursday, September 18
9:00 am
Deep in Daddy’s closet, my cell phone vibrates for the third time.
This time I answer.
Hey, Tim.
Pam, we need to dress your father today.
Can’t find his new shirt. It’s here somewhere.
Maybe he wore it.
No, he was saving it.
Got one here he can use.
No. I’ll bring one.
By two.
OK.
2:00 pm
Inside the home that is not a home
but a house made to look like one,
I hug Daddy’s clothes like they are him
until Tim came for them.
I surrender
new cotton t-shirt and briefs,
fresh-laundered, pressed white shirt,
tie that teased out the undertones of gray-blue eyes,
travelers-creased, slate-gray wool pants,
1.5-inch, mahogany belt,
silk sport jacket patterned subtle pink and lavender rose,
white socks (elastic loosened at the top),
and size-13AA dress-black, tennis shoes.
Uh…we don’t need the socks and shoes.
A piece of me breaks deep inside.
Friday, September 19
10:00 am
I slip from outside cool crisp Fall air
to inside heady funeral scent—
Stargazer lilies and myrrh of roses.
Take a hard left at a sofa that does not invite,
and without knocking interrupt family business—
Tim, long blue-jeaned legs stretched
across desk top and his father, stiff and straight
in black suit, talk computers.
Found it!
Found what?
I hold out the plastic wrapped white shirt.
He’s already dressed.
I don’t mean to make more work for you. I’ll do it.
Umm…we can’t disturb the body once dressed.
Why not?
Bobby, diener who collected my dad from his last breathing place, steps through the doorway and saves us all.
I’ll take her, Tim, to her father.
Only he’s not my daddy anymore.
His spirit that filled and colored his six-foot frame,that voiced
stories and songs, that engaged in a glorious foot-race with Death
left a few days ago.
I found your shirt, Daddy.
And my Daddy answers the way spirits still hovering do
…and I did as Daddy would do.
See you tonight, Tim. Oh, by the way. I got the shirt on him.
Tim unfolds legs from relax to tense and hits the floor running
with me close behind, plastic-wrapped white shirt behind my back.
Daddy laughs in me.
11 thoughts on "Daddy’s Shirt"
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Amazing tone shifts. Wonderful release at the end.
I agree with Gaby. This is very well-constructed. As a reader, I could feel every part of this.
legacy is all ❤️
The haunting sense of him leaving before the busyness began.
Thanks, y’all a hard and good one to write. Appreciate your comments!
This is a small epic and provides an interesting bridge between life and death—how one is present and energy, to one who becomes the lifeless shell left behind. I love the humor and the dilemma of finding just the right clothing for someone close to you who has died—the silliness and sadness of having this task that seem moot at this point. 5 stars poem!
Thanks, Kim! It is truly a liminal space.
A wonderful story, Pam. Yiu capture so much in the telling!
Thanks, Greg! Grateful for the chuckle in such a hard time.
Such a tender piece that bubbles from a deep motioned space . . . touched me . . . reminded me of the night clothes I chose for my own Daddy’s burial . . . can’t see them any more but i can still feel them . . . flannel & soft . . . loved how each item was so vividly described . . . reminded me there isn’t a day that goes by that Dad doesn’t walk in my heart . . . your poem helped me realize i am not alone . . . thank you for your vivid reminders & your loving connection with your Dad.
Thank you for your kind words and remembrances of your dad.