Mom’s robe Woke up to cold. Goosebumps on my arm. Feet were frozen as I walked across the wooden floor and kitchen tile to the bathroom. Shivered as I washed my hands and walked toward my closet. Mom's black and red plaid robe was hanging inside. It was one of the the only things I grabbed the day after she died. It was too painful to be in her place, so quickly I grabbed the robe and the rice cooker - two objects that represented the mom I loved. I put on the robe and instantly felt at peace. Warmth. I was home.