It was one of those nights when his daddy had to work late, and our youngest grandchild Malcolm was upset because he wouldn’t be home for their normal bedtime routine. For a good while, Daddy’s schedule had allowed him to work from home or, at the very least, be there before Malcolm’s appointed time for bed. But a new job with new responsibilities was requiring some adjustment. Adjustment that did not, on occasion, go well. That night was one of those occasions.
As he lay in bed, tears streaming down his little cheeks, his mommy tried everything she could conjure up to comfort him, but to no avail . . . until she remembered something Dennis would do for her before they married. If he was going to be out of town on a family trip, he would leave one of his shirts for her to sleep in. A shirt that still carried his smell. A shirt that offered a connection while he was away. So, Kathryne told Malcolm what Dennis used to do for her and asked if he would like to sleep with one of Daddy’s shirts. From beneath the mound of covers and stuffed animals a pitiful little voice whispered “Yes . . .”
Kathryne walked across the hall to their bedroom, returning with one of Dennis’s shirts, which she offered to Malcolm. Slowly his hand slipped from beneath the blankets, reaching for the treasure his mommy held, before snatching it from her grasp and hugging it tightly. Only then did he drift off to sleep.
Although a shirt could never be a permanent substitute for his daddy, in that moment of missing him terribly, it offered a little of the connection Malcolm was longing for at bedtime. It’s the same connection many people search for when they lose someone they love . . . a connection often found in the things that person used the most. Perhaps it’s drinking coffee from the cup they reached for every morning. Maybe it’s sitting in the recliner they once occupied instead of your spot on the couch. It could be sleeping on their pillow, using the pen they always carried with them . . . even wrapping yourself up in their favorite shirt. The one that still smells like them.
The tangible things our loved ones used throughout their lives offer a connection that, although temporary, can provide a comfort we won’t find anywhere else. Those momentary connections can get us through a difficult time. They can also hurt. A lot. But the pain is part of the grief, generated by the love we still—and always will—carry for that person. And holding something they held . . . using something they used . . . can make them seem present again, even if just for a moment.
This week it was Kathryne who was absent, having migrated south to Florence to help a friend celebrate her birthday. Just as they were preparing to head home her phone rang, and a pitiful little voice on the other end of the line begged her to come home now. It was bedtime, and there was no Mommy to sing him a song. No Mommy to snug with him before he fell asleep. She assured him she was headed that way, but it would be a while since teleporting wasn’t an option. Then she asked him if he would like to have one of her shirts. The way she had given him one of his daddy’s. And as an additional apology for her absence, she offered to let him sleep with Mr. Bear. Mr. Bear had been with her since pretty much the beginning of time, and he occupied a place of honor on the dresser in their bedroom. But that night he found an even higher calling—comforting a little boy who missed his mommy.
Don’t ever let anyone tell you that things are just things. That may be the case for much of what we possess, but there are those items that will speak of us—and comfort those we must leave behind—long after we’re gone.
About the author: Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth-generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926 and has worked with Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 45 years. Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.
