The old flannel shirt was soft and worn and it smelled of pine and smoke and him. Gathering it to her face, she inhaled deeply and let the memories flow over her. Ah the times they had had. The strolls in the park where their friends joined them in play. The times sitting by the lake, he with his fishing rod: she patiently waiting under the nearby grove of pine, watching him, with love. The quiet nights here in the den, he reading and she gazing into the fire, enjoying the warmth of both him and the flames.
They had been together for many years and for her there had never been anyone else in her heart. He, being the fickle one of the duo, often wandered off into the arms of others, but in the end, he always returned to her. She always took him back, never showing her hurt or even a touch of condescension, only acceptance with love and a sense of relief that he had returned to her. This time was different, somehow she felt it and the worry shown in her eyes. Soon, she kept thinking, soon he would return, yet many days had past since he had gone out the front door and many nights without his warmth beside her, had only deepened her concern.
His friends and family had gathered around her and watching their somberness, her fear only grew. No-one spoke the words to her, “He’s gone”, but the realization slowly began to chill her to the bone and waves of loss soon overtook her soul. How would she survive without him? Who would she now turn to to ease her loneliness? Who would look after her in her time of need? The questions ran thru her mind, the the answers were nowhere to be found.
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply once again. He was there….in the shirt, his essence, his scent; it was all that was left of him and with her soft growls she would guard it closely, should anyone try to take it away.
Thinking Ten: Member’s Pick, Friday: An old flannel shirt