It’s just a coat, yes, I know it was your father’s, but still, it’s just a coat.
Through 53 years of marriage, she had lived with that coat but never could accept its presence in their home. No matter the approach she could never sway him to her point of view and convince him to get rid of that dirty old rag. She couldn’t even remember the last time he wore it and now the moth holes and stains ensured it would never drape his body again. She knew it was irrational but still her hatred grew. Often, she wondered if she just dumped it would it end this ridiculous argument and in turn stop the growing distance in their marriage. She never explained to him that it was evidence that he could not let go of his past and make a new future with her. It was the constant reminder while they lived in the childhood home that he had inherited, his past would remain part of their story. She wanted freedom from a past that was so unfamiliar to her, the stories of a close family striving together through good times and bad. That coat represented his story, a story she was excluded from and each year she felt it had driven a deeper wedge. Eventually she gave up trying to understand him or shift his opinion. Now, she looks at the coat and where she felt anger, she feels cold indifference for the man who once wore it proudly.
It’s just a coat, yes, I understand how you feel, but it’s my coat.
He wondered as he looked lovingly at the old stained battered coat if he should have told her from the beginning how he felt, but she was so demanding, so dismissive of his past that he dug his heels in and insisted that the coat stayed where it was no matter who was visiting or what new interior design was concocted for the room. He feared the emotion would overwhelm him if he were put into words why he couldn’t let it go. It was not just a coat; it was first and foremost his father’s coat. It was the coat his baby brother was cradled in the night they had made the frantic rush to the hospital. His mother believed it was the reason his father was made manager over more experienced candidates as it gave him a statesman-like stature. It was the extra blanket he shared with his brother the winter of the big freeze where they giggled and pushed a leg each in the sleeves for extra warmth. It was the cover they threw over the hole in the sofa when visitors arrived. It was proudly worn by his father to his wedding, and for him it was a warm hug when he wore it to his father’s funeral. A coat filled with years of memories, pain and laughter, love and toil. He knew she did not know its full history, but surely, she could see what it meant to him. If she truly loved him, she should accept its importance without explanation. It was his after all and ultimately his decision what should happen to it.
It’s no longer just a coat.
Its’ dark cloth has become the symbol of the shadow that has grown between them. They no longer discuss the coat, or anything else. The coat hangs there, loved and hated, cherished and despised, continuing to weave separation into a marriage long dead.
