Clothes

It's been 2 years, 6 months, and 3 days...
It has taken me 2 years, 6 months, and 3 days to start to clean out his closet.

Earlier in the day, as I did laundry and folded a load from the dryer, the irony did not escape me that most of the clothes I was folding were his.  His clothes that I have become used to wearing.  Not because of some emotional attachment (okay, maybe there is at some level), but more out of practicality.  The long sleeve shirts that I can wear outside while working in the yard and not worry about ruining.  The sweatshirt with paint stains on it.  You see, I did not have many, if any, clothes I could get dirty and ruin.  My life "before" did not entail doing anything that would ruin my clothes.  So, for practical reasons, I am able to wear his slightly large shirts for projects around the house.  As the days grow colder, though, I also find myself wearing his sweats--the large, warm sweatshirts or flannel pants.  Plenty of room and, yes, the warmth of the fabric but also the warmth of his memory.

For practical reasons, I decided today to start cleaning out his closet--a closet filled with over 30 years of clothes.  Clothes that Ed wore to work; clothes he wore to do yardwork; clothes he wore lounging around the house; clothes he wore for casual; clothes he wore for more formal affairs.  Yes, it has been over 2 years and 6 months and I have yet to get rid of his clothes.

On the positive side of things, Dan cannot wear Ed's clothes since they wore different sizes.  So the dozen or so shoes that were still is good shape, I was able to easily box up for donation.  However, as I sorted through clothes, the piles of what I was keeping for myself grew.  I finally realized I needed to let some of it go.  There was no need for me to keep 20 sweatshirts or whatever else there was.  So I sorted and purged.

I sorted and removed shirts from hangers or refolded t-shirts from various events or places, I reminisced.  Not sadly but fondly.  There was a box of t-shirts that he had saved--Belchertown Fall Baseball; Mama Leone's, Beat Carlos (or Sack CK depending on the year); the "Greatest Dad" shirt--just to name a few. The many golf shirts that he wore to Pine Grove or the polos he wore to work--and the ones with a pocket to hold those packs of cigarettes before he quit.  I was proud as I worked through the closet and bagged things up.  There were no tears, no sadness.

That was until I started to drag the bags down the stairs to the garage.  They were heavy and as I made several trips through the house dragging his clothes behind me, I realized there were fewer things in the house that were Ed's.  I realized that his presence in the house was diminishing.  As I removed these bags of clothes, the weight of them dragged on my arms, and dragged on my heart.  It reminded me of the weight of his being, of his existence.  It took all my strength to lift these bags and boxes into the back of the car.  And after several trips, I sank into the chair in the bedroom and the tears flowed.  The weight became such a burden I could no longer bear it.  It hurt that all that remained of Ed's life were these clothes.  These clothes that he picked out and that he wore.  Some I don't even remember.  Some brought back memories of times and places gone by.  And my heart ached and the weight of the bags and the weight of my grief became too great.

There are still more clothes in the closet that I need to pack up.  But I closed the closet door, enough for one day, to be finished on another day.

As the sun sets and the house cools, I slip on the large sweatshirt sitting on the back of the chair.  It was Ed's sweatshirt.  It's big and warm and comforting.  I'm glad I kept it...