When I was growing up mom had this peach jacket that I loved so much that when she tried to donate it, I told her she would have to do it with me kicking and screaming the entire time. It’s well-worn and well worn, and I was so well-loved with her in it. Even my dad, who rolls his eyes at my and my mom’s overflowing closets and could care less about the realms of fashion, can pick out that peach jacket from a mile away. To this day, it still lives in my closet, like many other things that I borrowed from her and never returned, but the other day, I left it in dining room. My dad came down the stairs and said to me, “I saw that jacket, and I thought for a second that your mom was back,” and I thought to myself how some days, it feels like we’re still just waiting for her to come home.