Letting Go and Holding On

With just ten days until the one year anniversary of Tom's death, I finally began to clean out the closet.  It was something that I attempted several months ago and could only let go of a few things, it was too painful. Interestingly what stopped me the first time was when I got to his socks and underwear. Today I was able to get through "his" closet and only one shelf and five hangers of our closet. It was very difficult to see an empty shelf in our closet, the one that held his sweaters, his nice soft, warm sweaters.  Of course, the cranberry sweater, of the complimentary Mr. Pants and Mr. Sweater fame, is not going anywhere.  I spent the afternoon touching each item, running my hand over the cashmere sweaters, inhaling the scent of each piece, folding his gym shorts and sweatpants, matching his socks and thinking of him putting each one on.  It is time to do this.  Time to let the fabric and the thread that clothed his physical presence move on to keep someone else warm, comforted and stylish.  I managed to stay fairly focused on the task, without any tears, until . . . until in an effort to spread my things around so the closet and drawers did not seem so empty, I sorted my pajamas, separating the summer and the winter ones.  But at the bottom of that drawer is my special lingerie, the things that Tom loved (no, there is not any leather and whips in all of that).  My nightgown from our wedding night, the pieces that I will never wear again.  The things that carry a special connection to our relationship, the things that hold memories of love and life and hope and the future--the future that is no more.  That was the hard part. I did not expect that some of my things would bring such pain.  No one told me about that. I think there are more of those things to come as I move through this part of the process.

Now there are boxes and piles, of the items to be sorted through by friends, the items to be donated to different organizations, the items to sell, the items to keep, the items to be repurposed into special remembrances.  I am not done, I've only done about half.  I must still tackle his shoes (oh how he loved shoes) and shirts and pants and tee-shirts and jackets and coats.  There are so many.  But it is a labor of love.  He no longer needs them.  His energy remains in a few things and those I will keep and hold close to me.  But it is time.  It is time to let go a little bit more, even though I do not want to.  But to move forward and build a new life, I need to allow room for that to happen, which means that I must let a few things go to create that room.