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16. Lessons from the Clothes

Written Tuesday, June 23, 2020 / Day 316 / Evening

In mid May a watershed moment occurred when I was moved to begin going through my wife’s clothes (Volume 8 - Essay #13 “Lessons of Completeness”).

As has been the case during most of this journey - the mood becomes an “out of body” experience. My entire life being a surreal series of episodes that at times I can scarcely process.

In the beginning - dealing with the clothes was a bit matter-of-fact. My plan to only take care of several items at a time was the only way I could see taking any action.

And after the first trip to the donation center was completed and I continued on with the exercise - the tell-tale signs of grief emerged.

After all, my connection to every “thing” that had to do with our life together has possessed a grip on me which has been difficult to assess - or free myself from. It is not a complete breakdown - but as is the case with me - elements line up and their weight comes crashing down - no matter how I try to dismiss them.

I did the laundry - so these clothes and I have had a relationship. I washed them, I folded them - I hung them up. We spent a lot of time together.

And their owner? Well - when they were on her - they signified what everything that I have written in past essays meant to me - if not more.

So when I pick up a garment - I do not try to make an emotional moment out of the moment - I try to briskly walk by the scene and try to complete the task. But their owner - she is in each item - each design - each thread.

Because when I look at each one I see her. I don’t mean to - and as much as I try to look away - those moments are especially challenging.

My composed side attempts to get my attention. Yes - I know she is gone. I know I have to be on my own. I know. I know.

But the power of the clothes is a bit too much for me at times. Not all the time. Often I can just step through what I have to step through and everything is fine.

Today though - I had a glimpse of the problem.

It just seems wrong. Disrespectful. The closest things to a person are their clothes. They are extensions of our personality - women for sure in a greater way than men. So to be dismantling someone’s life - as it seems to strike me - is just that much more distasteful.

When it was someone who is still everything to you - how can it not be?

I do understand why people have a difficult time doing this. There is a factor I’m sure as to how emotional the person is as a person, how close they were to the owner of the clothes and what the depth of their relationship to them represented.

As has been the case with me - my extraordinary relationship with the most amazing person I could have ever had the privilege of being with - just makes this task ever so difficult.

And then reality and it’s friends showing up. Reminding me in no uncertain terms that what I am seeing is the end of what I loved most in this world. And not taking a break from smashing my face into the irony as often as they can.

Often times I just hold each article of clothing for a moment - and drink in what the item represents. You see I hugged her in each outfit. There is nothing she ever wore that I had not embraced her in. It is those realizations that just keep the remaining fragments of the life I had with her alive - until the reality that I am forced to live in - that reality - takes the moment and makes it come crashing down upon me.

But I do know those moments must come. They must come. They have to.

This is the proverbial “other shoe”. It is the caboose of the train. Along with all the other elements of death that have surfaced over these ten months - as each secondary component of the life we shared presents itself to me to be reckoned with - and mourned - then buried - the clothes are the gatekeepers of the future.

It is apparent to me that with their passing - their burial will then prepare me for whatever is ahead.

In the present - at times feeling a bit - dare I say - together - stable. Then at other times - like during these moments of resolution - acting like that multiple car NASCAR crash that takes out the immediate area in an intense explosion of machines and fuel.

I have only just begun - I know I have so much more to go - but I am on my way. It is a transition in a way. And when I think about it - she is escorting me to this new place.

The place that I really do not care about entering as of yet. But a place I will end up in. Escorted by the endless memories that each piece of clothing brings. My sweetie - in a way - taking me there.

One delightful, precious and touching part of her at a time.

16. Lessons from the Clothes

Written Tuesday, June 23, 2020 / Day 316 / Evening

In mid May a watershed moment occurred when I was moved to begin going through my wife’s clothes (Volume 8 - Essay #13 “Lessons of Completeness”).

As has been the case during most of this journey - the mood becomes an “out of body” experience. My entire life being a surreal series of episodes that at times I can scarcely process.

In the beginning - dealing with the clothes was a bit matter-of-fact. My plan to only take care of several items at a time was the only way I could see taking any action.

And after the first trip to the donation center was completed and I continued on with the exercise - the tell-tale signs of grief emerged.

I did the laundry - so these clothes and I have had a relationship. I washed them, I folded them - I hung them up. We spent a lot of time together.

And their owner? Well - when they were on her - they signified what everything that I have written in past essays meant to me - if not more.

So when I pick up a garment - I do not try to make an emotional moment out of the moment - I try to briskly walk by the scene and try to complete the task. But their owner - she is in each item - each design - each thread.

Because when I look at each one I see her. I don’t mean to - and as much as I try to look away - those moments are especially challenging.

My composed side attempts to get my attention. Yes - I know she is gone. I know I have to be on my own. I know. I know.

But the power of the clothes is a bit too much for me at times. Not all the time. Often I can just step through what I have to step through and everything is fine.

Today though - I had a glimpse of the problem.

It just seems wrong. Disrespectful. The closest things to a person are their clothes. They are extensions of our personality - women for sure in a greater way than men. So to be dismantling someone’s life - as it seems to strike me - is just that much more distasteful.

When it was someone who is still everything to you - how can it not be?

I do understand why people have a difficult time doing this. There is a factor I’m sure as to how emotional the person is as a person, how close they were to the owner of the clothes and what the depth of their relationship to them represented.

As has been the case with me - my extraordinary relationship with the most amazing person I could have ever had the privilege of being with - just makes this task ever so difficult.

And then reality and it’s friends showing up. Reminding me in no uncertain terms that what I am seeing is the end of what I loved most in this world. And not taking a break from smashing my face into the irony as often as they can.

But I do know those moments must come. They must come. They have to.

It is apparent to me that with their passing - their burial will then prepare me for whatever is ahead.

In the present - at times feeling a bit - dare I say - together - stable. Then at other times - like during these moments of resolution - acting like that multiple car NASCAR crash that takes out the immediate area in an intense explosion of machines and fuel.

I have only just begun - I know I have so much more to go - but I am on my way. It is a transition in a way. And when I think about it - she is escorting me to this new place.

The place that I really do not care about entering as of yet. But a place I will end up in. Escorted by the endless memories that each piece of clothing brings. My sweetie - in a way - taking me there.

One delightful, precious and touching part of her at a time.

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