There’s a soft, brown cotton sweater hanging on a hook in my closet that I slip on when I wake. Mornings can sometimes be chilly in L.A., and even though I’m Minnesota born and bred, I’ve lived in California so long that 60 degrees can seem downright freezing.
The sweater was worn by my dear friend Elaine. She died of ovarian cancer in 1999, and I think of her every morning I put it on. It’s a piece of clothing that probably didn’t hold much significance to her when she was alive, but it’s become something I treasure.
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