This one makes me so, sad. Weston died on this sweater. All day, as I held my dead baby, I could smell him. I had not really smelled him before, with him being in the isolette all the time. He smelled so sweet.
Weston left his scent all over the sweater. It smelled really strong for a few days. Now, almost 11 weeks later, the smell has faded. I smelled it again when I got it out of my closet for this picture, and I think I stilled smelled him, faintly. Maybe it's just my imagination or so desperately wanting to hold onto one of the few physical marks he left in the world. But one thing is certain: I will never wash this sweater again. I'll wear it around the house from time to time.
The arms across the chest are representative of how I feel, trying to keep my heart from falling out of my body. And the emptiness of the sweater, without a body, represents the huge emptiness in my heart.
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