When my grandfather died this past fall, I didn’t know how to process it. We were never super close, but I was his only grandchild and I loved him a lot. I know he loved me a lot too. When I was growing up, he lived in Florida, so I only saw him about once a year. Even when he moved back to Massachusetts, I didn’t see him often. But he always called on my birthday and every time I called him, I could tell he was happy to hear from me. I was at school when my parents were cleaning out his room. I called them and asked if they’d found anything good. My dad was most interested in some cool old coins that they’d found. My mom was excited to tell me that they had found a One Direction-sponsored toothpaste from 2013. My dad asked if I would be interested in having some of my grandpa’s old clothes. I told them that I would love that and that I trusted them to grab some items I would wear. The next day my mom called me to tell me that they had brought home a bucket of his clothes that were mine if I wanted. I told her that I definitely wanted them and I’d look through them when I came home for Thanksgiving. 

I have always loved old man clothes—it’s what I gravitate towards at a second hand store.I was back home for Thanksgiving a month later. I rooted through the plastic tub that my parents had left in my room. It was stuffed full of t-shirts, flannels, sweaters, and socks. They smelled like a mix of smoke and laundry detergent––just as I remembered my grandfather smelling every time I hugged him. The first items to come out were waffle knit sweaters in green, cream, and gray. Then, a dark blue flannel and a red Jimi Hendrix t-shirt. Next, gray and light blue flannels. A dark blue t-shirt. A khaki overshirt. Long socks patterned with rubber ducks. A zip-up khaki jacket. A few fleece quarter-zips. Red and orange striped socks. A couple of t-shirts that he probably got in free giveaways. A zip-up hoodie. Out of all those clothes, I kept a few of the flannels, the green sweater, the Jimi Hendrix shirt, and the zip-up khaki jacket. I gave a few items to my best friends. We donated the rest. I started to integrate his clothes into my closet. I wore his striped green waffle knit sweater to work, and my coworker complimented me on it. “Thanks. It was my grandpa’s.” Saying that made me smile. A few days later, my suitemate came out of her room before breakfast wearing the dark gray sweater of my grandpa’s that I gave to her. “Hey, lady! I like your sweater, where’d you get it?” She grinned and said “Thanks! It was my friend’s grandpa’s!” 

Sharing these clothes that were loved by my grandpa with the people who I love the most and spend the most time with felt so special. Receiving his clothes already felt like I’d been given a part of him, and then I got to share that with people who I knew would love and appreciate the clothes. I got to make my closest friends a part of my family by passing these familial items to them. His old Jimi Hendrix shirt quickly became one of my favorite shirts. It was soft and fell in just the right way: oversized enough that it wasn’t tight, but not so oversized that I felt like I was drowning in it. I called my dad and told him that I was wearing Grampy’s Jimi Hendrix shirt. He laughed and said that my grandpa would’ve gotten a kick out of that. I suddenly pictured my grandfather sitting at a table in the restaurant we always met him in, slapping his hands on the table and throwing his head back to let out a barking laugh. About six months after he died, we had a memorial dinner in honor of him at a nice restaurant that my parents love. My parents and I drove to the restaurant where we met some of my grandpa’s friends––a couple that he lived with for the last five years of his life and the couple that took over his business when he didn’t want to run it anymore. His friend told me that my Grampy was so proud of me and would always talk about me and what I was up to at school. Even though we weren’t super close, it felt good to hear that and it gives me an extra sense of pride when wearing his clothes. 

Through his clothes, I feel closer to my grandfather than ever. I feel like I have a tangible part of him with me and I love that I have been able to extend that connection to my friends as well. I am sad that he is gone and I wish I had known him better when he was alive, but I am grateful for the times I spent with him and even more grateful for the opportunity to wear his clothes proudly.