My Baby Blanket

I don't remember if I had a baby blanket, but I'd be willing to bet I did.  

It's one of those things that you carry with you when you are scared.  It's one of those things you tote along side you when you don't want to feel alone.

I'm 28 now.  No time for baby blankets.

Instead, my material security (literally) comes in the form of old t-shirts and pajama shirts.

When my grampa died, I got some of his clothes.  Included in this new wardrobe was an oversized shirt with fishing lures on it that read "women want me, fish fear me."  Yes, my uncle was confused when I claimed it, as we all we cleaned and organized the last of my grandparents stuff, but I didn't care.  I wanted that shirt. I wanted the comfort it resembled.  I wanted the safety it emanated.

I got several other shirts of my grampa's, including 3 pajama shirts.  I'm not quite sure how he fit in them, but apparently he made it work.  My gramma sewed pockets into all of his PJ shirts.  When I got them after he died, there were cough drops and kleenex's in the pockets.  It was gross...but also kind of adorable.

When I feel sad, or alone, I often hold on to something that reminds me of my grampa.  I'll put on one of his old shirts, or cuddle up with the pillow that came from his and my gramma's house.  For a long time, all of those things still kind of smelled like my grandparents.  My grampa didn't smell particularly good... but I associate the smell of him with being safe and being unconditionally loved.  

When I feel alone now days, I put on one of my grampa's shirts.  It's my silent way of saying "Hey, I need you."  The cool thing is that he always shows up.  

In one way or another, I'm never really alone.  It's good to remind myself of that sometimes.