I saw a post today analyzing "the narrative choice of grieving character that starts wearing something of their dead loved ones"
And it hit me a little bit harder than I was expecting.
For those of you uninitiated, a big Contentious moment for me and my brother was that I stole his cloths while he was serving in the Peace Corp and couldn't stop me. I really only stole like 5 button up shirts, but each of us acted like I stole a lot more. We both tend to exaggerate, him in Righteous Anger and me in humor. But truthfully it was just a handful of shirts.
It was something he talked about often. And something I don't think he ever fully understood
Stealing those shirts meant more to me than the joke I played it off as. It was the first time I ever let myself wear menswear.
I love menswear. It fits me so much better as a person. I truly feel like I am my best self as a Handsome Woman.
Back then it wasn't something I could just /do/. It had to be a costume or a joke. I was constantly pushing my butch tendencies under the rug while at the same time not being able to be my whole self in dresses and settling for an unhappy inbetween.
Around the time I stole DJs cloths was when I started challenging my worldviews and internalized issues.
Finding a starting point was overwhelming. I was still terrified of going the store, and trying on /mens/ cloths. I had no idea how sizing worked. And I was still a little bit in denial that this is what I truly wanted.
But I could do it if it could be played off as a joke on my brother.
I tried his shirts on.
We were the same size.
The metaphoric doors were open.
These days, where I have the confidence to buy my own suit, where I just see cloths as cloths, I still wear my brother's shirts.
When he passed, his husband had gathered a hefty pile of DJ's things to donate.
And once more, I stole my brother's cloths.
Only now it's less about finding me, and more that I thought it might make him laugh this time and be A Way to keep him with me.
It felt.... fitting.
