I had been meaning to take a few dresses and rompers to the dry cleaners. I had rented three dresses to try on for my friends’ wedding local to LA and ended up finding another dress in my closet. Yes, I was notorious for buying clothes (and forgetting about them). Going through any closets or boxes of clothes was like shopping—I called it ADHD hoarding (for me, it comes in the form of clothes, plants, and books). I’d buy the clothes as part of an ADHD bender, which at times led to compulsive spending. I hated this part of me. I didn’t even spend or get that many items, though the high probability of forgetting about them was a lot worse when I was younger. It had been a while since I had one of these ADHD benders. I had reformed, or at least pivoted, to buying plants for my clients or business instead and made a big shift to buying as few new things as possible and going thrifting instead. Oh, how I loved thrifting and buying second-hand items so much. I could donate items I didn’t need, get some new ones for a fraction of the price, and oh, how I loved the thrill of the hunt!
On this particular Tuesday, I had a free morning and was called by the energy I had to finally run some errands. I could go to the thrift store if I dropped off my dry cleaning, I bargained with myself. I even added a cherry on top and picked out four items I wanted to donate. Rare for me to commit to such a small donation haul. I usually came with bags or boxes full of stuff, usually before and after a move.
I picked out a red linen dress, which was to be used for painting or pottery, a headscarf, an old fanny pack I’d use while hiking, and a black silk pleated romper. The romper was a little large on me, but I had only worn it once to visit my grandma’s body at the funeral home. I couldn’t wear the romper to anything else without it reminding me of that moment, that day. I had thrifted the romper and knew immediately what I would wear it for. It was now time for me to add it back into the mix of donated treasures to be found by its next person who needed it. I dropped off the items before heading into the thrift store. The person working at the donation center was kind and complimented me on my tie-dye digger shirt, also thrifted from one of my favorite stores in Joshua Tree.
I went inside the thrift store and found a few cool items: a terracotta-painted mirror I would place outside in my garden, some knit tops, a quality dress from a good brand, and two more black rompers. On the way back home, I treated myself to some passionfruit sugarcane juice and even got some of the toppings for free (a Tuesday special I would discover), which was also a treat for donating, thrifting, running errands, and returning some items to Amazon (semi-ADHD purchases). I made my way home, and the dry cleaners would be my last stop.
I grabbed my tote bag with four items and walked to the dry cleaners. I saw an elderly woman sitting and working with a sewing machine right behind the register. I walked in and said, “Hello.” As I did so, I was immediately hit with a scent and calmness. The room—she—smelled like my grandma. She smiled kindly, walked over, and took the bag from me. I don’t remember what words were said. I watched as she separated the items: a lace blouse that needed pressing, a dress, and two rompers. She had a notepad and noted one top and three dresses. She then asked for my last name. “Isabel,” I responded as I waited for her to respond with “Last name?” assuming Isabel was my first name and that I just didn’t hear her correctly to know that I could not possibly have a first name as a last name… but she didn’t. “Phone number?” she followed. “818…” She ripped the pink slip beneath the paper receipt and handed me the copy. “See you Friday.” I smiled and thanked her, then left the shop.
I was trying to process how I had felt in that dry cleaners as I walked to my car. I sat in it and grappled with the fact that I missed my grandma… a feeling I had never really sat with or been able to sit with these last few months. And in addition to that, I missed her and would never see her again. I sat there for a few minutes.
An idea came to me. I remembered the bag of items I had just thrifted and reached to my back seat. I took out the paper bag with three items. I pulled off the colored tags and got out of the car with them. I walked back toward the dry cleaners. I went inside and said, “I knew I had another bag!” The woman looked at me and smiled. “I’ll have to write up another slip…” Three dresses, she wrote, and handed me the second pink slip. The entire time I was in there, I took in the smell again. The same smell of calmness. It took me back to my grandma’s house, visiting her when it was just me and my mom, maybe my grandpa. It was the smell of “Oh, you’re back home! How is life?!” The smell of driving with her on the way to school. I always remembered the first school I went to in the US, the one she worked at as a kindergarten teacher. It was another city over in another district, but I was given an exception as my grandma worked there, and it was easier for childcare as my single mom worked many hours and could not take me to and from school yet. The smell was of unconditional love, safety, and being prioritized by someone I loved.
As I walked out of the store, I realized that I was not finished mourning. I got into my car and sat holding the second pink slip… wishing I could hold my grandmother.
Agatha Isabel is a non-fiction author whose work explores the connection between nature, community, and life. Blending her plant care expertise with a passion for social causes, Agatha’s writing offers a unique take on the bond between humans and the natural world. She is the author of Houseplant Hookups: All You Need to Find the Perfect Match, a humorous guide pairing readers with their ideal green companions. As the founder of Plant Ma Shop and leader of the initiative "Planting for Progress," Agatha champions community-building and human rights through plant-based efforts. Based in Southern California, she draws inspiration from nature and her travels, weaving humor and authenticity into her work. You can explore more of Agatha's projects and writing at www.agathaisabel.com.