Your sleeves were tucked in
I dug through your pockets for the hundredth and last time hoping for some evidence of a part of you I haven’t met yet. A receipt, note, or gum wrapper. Anything.
Today, I boxed up most of my late husbands clothes. I’d started this process months ago, but was interrupted when The Corona invaded our lives. Rather than continuing with my designating new homes for my husbands clothes, I had to make room for my Dad whom I had invited to stay with me during the length of the country-wide quarantine. So, I moved all of the special stacks of Rich’s clothes back into the closet. It almost felt like a great relief on one hand, I didn’t have to face life living without his clothing in my house but on the other hand, I knew it was only prolonging the inevitable.
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Now, six months later, I felt a moment of strength to do this.
I remember how he felt wearing these clothes. I remember, putting my head on his warm, comforting chest in that sweater vest. I tried it again. I put that sweater vest against my face and it’s just not the same. Not even close. Even more of a realization that having his clothes here won’t bring him back to me. And so, I sigh. No tears - yet. Just sadness. Missing all the life of him who filled those clothes. Several of his shirts still had the one side sleeve tucked into the shirts just the way they would when he hung them up himself. That gave me to comforting illusion that he’d just done it moments ago. I treasured that.
Then I came across his orthopedic foot molds. For a moment, I caressed the bottom half of the life-sized molds of his feet. I remember them so vividly. These feet that gave him so much pain and betrayed him. They were wonderful to me. I wanted to take care of them and make it better. To make whatever I could in his life, better.
He made my life better. He made me a better human. A better wife, better friend, sister, daughter. All the things and all the different parts I have in other people’s lives, he just made me better. And that I have with me, in my DNA, in my thoughts and behaviors toward others - even myself. He gave me that gift. And that I bring with me no matter what clothes are in my house. His greatest gifts in this life are a part of me. And nothing can take that away.
These clothes, they were treasures to me because they reminded me of his body, being there, standing in front of me. Being with me. But I don’t need his clothes to remember that. I have him.