Buffalo plaid memories

Today, while packing away holiday stuff, I decided to consolidate Charles’ three boxes into two to make room. Some of the items have no memories attached. I actually sent a number of items to his friends after his suicide.

Still other articles of clothing carry strong memories–his blankie, the little leg cast from his fall down the stairs at eighteen months old. And this shirt. It’s what Charles wore the day he came home from rehab. He was scrubbed clean, beaming and so like the boy I remembered–the child that had been buried inside addiction just three weeks prior.

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