(from about 2015) I am wearing the last of my mother's nightgowns. When I brought them home, I could hold the pile up to my face and breathe deeply of her lingering presence. They were the only nighties I wore for years, until one by one, they became ragged and torn beyond use. I don't know why the blue one lasted longest despite fraying cuffs and thinning fabric. These night gowns were my mother's final wardrobe.Her everyday wear when she had grown too frail to do more than walk with help from the pink recliner where she slept to the swivel chair by the table and television. She called it her command post, where she greeted her stream of caregivers and visitors, watched Jeopardy and cheered the UConn Lady Huskies basketball team. She reminded me of a baby bird the way her short silky hair stood up like pin feathers and her mouth would stay open from her attempts to breathe naturally.