When someone dear to us passes, the most difficult moments often don’t happen at the funeral. They come quietly, in the days that follow—when we open their closet for the first time.
The air inside feels still, almost sacred. Their scent lingers on the sleeves of a coat, their shoes wait patiently by the wall, and for a moment, it feels like they might walk back in and put everything in motion again. Sorting through those belongings can break your heart—but within that pain is something deeply human: connection.
