It is predominantly black and made of soft, velour-like material. Small green and gold plaid stripes crisscross the jacket, meeting up at the teeth of the zipper that spans the length of its front. My husband brought this jacket home to me twenty-eight years ago. It was just a thoughtful gift while he was away on one of his frequent trips, paid for by the Army. 

 

From the moment we met, there was always distance between us. I was working at a dealership in Rhode Island when he sauntered in. He was a handsome military guy stationed in upstate New York on a weekend visit to his parents. Our chat led to a first date, delayed because of harsh weather. He would make the long trip to New England frequently to visit, and I would make my way to New York whenever I could. Deployment took him to Haiti, and through letters and military phone calls, we became engaged. 

 

Fast-forward two years of long-distance love, we married one weekend in October, and he left for Germany the following week. Three months later, I joined him. We spent a two-week whirlwind of togetherness as he oriented me on my new surroundings and then departed for a year in Bosnia. 

 

Upon his return, he still made weeks- to months-long trips and always managed to bring me some small token of an “I am always thinking of you” gift. 

 

The gift of the black and green plaid jacket became my favorite. It was one of those kinds of gifts that you can show off to the world, though the world could have cared less. I was proud when I wore it, knowing it was picked out just for me. It was a great conversation starter whenever I was complimented about it. “Oh, this? My jacket? My husband bought it for me...” and so gushed my conversation about how I obtained such an extraordinary, ordinary jacket. 

 

Though the military continued to keep us moving from one country to the next and deployments and promotions kept separation between us, we continued to celebrate our marriage year to year.

 

I was purging my clothes closet one day when my youngest daughter came in and plopped on the bed. “You’re getting rid of these?” She held up a pair of cowboy boots, soft and bent at the ankles, leaning like they had too much to drink. “I thought you loved these boots?”

 

“I did, but it's time.” I tossed a couple more old blouses onto the pile growing on the bedroom floor. I pulled the black and green plaid jacket from its hanger, slipped it on, and smiled. “Your dad bought this for me years ago.” 

 

“I know, that’s my favorite jacket. You aren’t getting rid of it, are you?” my daughter's voice pitched with a twinge of panic. 

 

“No, of course not, I said. This jacket goes with everything. It never seems to lose its style—even now, some twenty-some years later.” 

 

I took it off and handed it to my daughter. She eagerly grabbed it, held it to her nose, and inhaled deeply. I watched her for a moment. Though she was sitting in front of me, she was lost, drifting in her world of smiling thoughts as she stroked the nap of the jacket.

 

“This jacket is you, Mom. It’s one of my favorite things I see you wear.” Balancing on her knees, she sat up on the bed and zealously tried it on. Wrapping her arms in a self-hugging gesture, she exclaimed, “It smells just like you. I love it!” 

 

She plunked back down against the pillows and proceeded to scroll through her phone. 

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Memories of time filled my thoughts. That jacket had been my security blanket. I cocooned myself in it each time my husband was away. It provided a physical connection, an essence of affection while we were apart. Such a simple thing that carried a burden of great importance. Somehow, that jacket never seemed to wear thin. Eventually, his time away became less and less, and my jacket spent more time waiting in the closet. 

 

“You can keep it if you want.” 

 

My daughter's eyes widened. “For real? But Daddy gave this to you. I mean, I love it, and I’ll gladly keep it if you’re sure.” 

 

“Yes, of course. I don’t wear it as much as I used to anymore.”

 

She bounced off the bed in full embrace, pinning my arms to my sides. 

 

“Wear it well, kiddo. It holds a lot of love.”

 

My daughter came to visit the other day. Proudly wearing her new jacket, she walked up the drive, and a flash of myself greeted my eyes. Such a simple thing—that jacket, yet it holds the power to keep distance far away.