Inspired by a symbol often misunderstood and dismissed,
this story explores the quiet spaces of grief and memory,
where what’s left unsaid carries the heaviest weight.
This just goes straight to the heart. There’s something so quietly heroic in the way you wear that coat — not as a relic, but as a continuation of love. The way you describe it, I can almost feel the weight of the wool, the faint trace of rose water, the ache of what remains when everything else has gone.
People see the surface — the “costume,” as you say — but you’ve captured so perfectly that tender, private layer beneath it: memory as something we inhabit, not just recall. I think that’s what grief does, in its most sacred form. It asks us to carry love differently. To wear it even when others don’t understand.
Your coat isn’t tragic or odd. It’s a kind of vow. To remember. To keep loving. To keep showing up in the world as yourself. And that, to me, is the most honest thing of all 🙏 sorry for your loss Tahir 🙏
Thank you so much, Urvasi, for this. Your words hit right at the heart of what I was trying to express. The coat really does carry so much in it. It’s beautiful how you’ve interpreted vow, grief, and memory in it. I appreciate your sensitivity in capturing that.
I was trying to work out how to put my thoughts into words and then read your comment Urvasi, which is wonderfully expressive and gets right to the heart of what I was feeling but hadn’t worked out how to say.
So, at the risk of being a little trite, my comment for you, (Tahir) is this:
Thanks so much, Tony! I’m really glad my post resonated with you, and I couldn’t agree more about Urvasi’s comment—'What she said' really says it all. Appreciate you taking the time to share your thoughts! And if you’re up for it, I’d love to see a poem from you on this! 😊
I dress up every day. Right now I own exactly one outfit, with a couple of extra layers so I can take another layer off and wash it ~ and I still get compliments and strange looks, in about equal measure, for it. Life's too short not to dress up!
Because it revealed the little things that remain in grief. The reminders that appear from nowhere—"Still smelled like the rose water she used to dab on her wrists"—"Still felt like her hand on my back".
But one line in particular smashed me - "It’s the last thing she gave me that still fits." For a moment, I couldn't breathe. In this piece, you shared your grief, your loss, your memories, and I felt it viscerally.
That’s all very nice. I understand how you miss her but see, she let go and left! Her time on earth for which she was born got over. And without you, she left!
But you are still living. You have got life for some reason. It’s time to let her go in peace and move on with your life. Donate the cost if you must, let go of her!
Your life is waiting patiently in the background for you to come back and seize it once more! Think about that!
Damn
This just goes straight to the heart. There’s something so quietly heroic in the way you wear that coat — not as a relic, but as a continuation of love. The way you describe it, I can almost feel the weight of the wool, the faint trace of rose water, the ache of what remains when everything else has gone.
People see the surface — the “costume,” as you say — but you’ve captured so perfectly that tender, private layer beneath it: memory as something we inhabit, not just recall. I think that’s what grief does, in its most sacred form. It asks us to carry love differently. To wear it even when others don’t understand.
Your coat isn’t tragic or odd. It’s a kind of vow. To remember. To keep loving. To keep showing up in the world as yourself. And that, to me, is the most honest thing of all 🙏 sorry for your loss Tahir 🙏
Thank you so much, Urvasi, for this. Your words hit right at the heart of what I was trying to express. The coat really does carry so much in it. It’s beautiful how you’ve interpreted vow, grief, and memory in it. I appreciate your sensitivity in capturing that.
I was trying to work out how to put my thoughts into words and then read your comment Urvasi, which is wonderfully expressive and gets right to the heart of what I was feeling but hadn’t worked out how to say.
So, at the risk of being a little trite, my comment for you, (Tahir) is this:
“What she said”
Lovely post, lovely comment.
Thanks so much, Tony! I’m really glad my post resonated with you, and I couldn’t agree more about Urvasi’s comment—'What she said' really says it all. Appreciate you taking the time to share your thoughts! And if you’re up for it, I’d love to see a poem from you on this! 😊
That sounds like a good challenge, Tahir.
Did you mean a poem about memory, loss and the amour we wear…
Or about ‘what she said”!?
Either of them works.
At least you said “either”
…(not ‘both’ 😳)
Hmm, you could read it as both.
I’ve just come back to re read this, Tahir, prompted by your sharing it again (prompted by me 😉).
It’s even better second time around.
“But it’s armor. It’s memory. It’s the last thing she gave me that still fits.“
Wonderfully evocative.
Thanks so much, Tony.
I love that you came back to it and that the second read brought out even more for you.
I really love this. I really do❤️
I’m so glad you loved it!
I dress up every day. Right now I own exactly one outfit, with a couple of extra layers so I can take another layer off and wash it ~ and I still get compliments and strange looks, in about equal measure, for it. Life's too short not to dress up!
I dress up all the time,
many outfits,
so I can take one off,
put another on,
and keep going.
I get compliments,
I get rough looks,
but hey,
I dress up for me,
not for them!
Love that! Life is all about expressing yourself. Thank you for sharing your thoughts!
Wearing memories
Thank you!
This piece really hit me.
Because it revealed the little things that remain in grief. The reminders that appear from nowhere—"Still smelled like the rose water she used to dab on her wrists"—"Still felt like her hand on my back".
But one line in particular smashed me - "It’s the last thing she gave me that still fits." For a moment, I couldn't breathe. In this piece, you shared your grief, your loss, your memories, and I felt it viscerally.
I hope writing it has softened the pain for you.
Rai, your comments are incredibly moving, and knowing this piece touched you so deeply truly means a lot.
OMG!! I love it, Tahir!! It's beautiful!!I really like reading these kinda pieces and it's been so long since I found one at the perfect time! 😭💖
Thank you so much! I’m so glad you found it at the perfect time! Your words mean a lot!
No prob! You're welcome! I really love it! Keep going! Keep writing!💖
That’s all very nice. I understand how you miss her but see, she let go and left! Her time on earth for which she was born got over. And without you, she left!
But you are still living. You have got life for some reason. It’s time to let her go in peace and move on with your life. Donate the cost if you must, let go of her!
Your life is waiting patiently in the background for you to come back and seize it once more! Think about that!
Thanks for sharing your perspective. appreciate your thoughts on finding peace through resilience.
Think of the hyphen as the grandparent of the em dash. The em dash is longer, and it’s called an em dash because it’s about as wide as the letter ‘M’.
I think in the ’90s, technology was the limitation. Now, modern typography lets us actually use a proper em dash.
Yes, I remember using a dash (-) when a word was split across lines and had to continue on the next.
Hyphen (-): Joins words. Usage: mother-in-law (holds connection)
Em dash (—): Adds a break or interruption. Usage: I was going to call her—but I forgot. (holds emotion)