Making room for me.

I have to go through grief, not around it.

From a beautiful cashmere sweater to a ratty old Winchester t-shirt, clothes “made the man” whom I loved, and I find it so hard to let go of them.

When we built our home over 40 years ago, we put in a huge closet off the master bedroom — 12 feet long with all sorts of shelving and two rows of racks, one for me and one for Mike. I wondered how we’d fill up the space. Obviously, we did. 

But as I looked at the clothes on “his” side of the closet and every time I took out an item, I crumbled. So many memories caught between the folds of those sweaters. Drawers full of t-shirts marking trips, vacations and events. Golf shirts galore and stunning sports jackets and dress shirts with ties.  How can I let go of those clothes that bring back so many fond memories.

Recently, a friend came to visit and I explained my dilemna. She totally understood as she, too, had lost a husband a number of years ago. “Okay, she said, ” we aren’t getting rid of anything; we’re just moving it.” She asked why my winter coats were hanging in the guest room closet and not the coat closet by the front door. It was because Mike’s coats filled the front closet. So we made the move — his coats to the guest bedroom and my winter coats now easily accessible by the front door. Wow, that was easy!

Over the Christmas holidays, I also mentioned the situation to my family, including my grandson, River. Mike was a big man; River is tall and slender. But fortunately they shared the same shoe size, so River went back to California with a box of shoes, including Mike’s cowboy boots. He also found a jacket of Mike’s that fit him. But it did give me a start as he came around the corner wearing it. For a split second I thought it was Mike.

Another option came from a friend and neighbor whose grandson attends an all-boy’s prep school where the students are often required to wear ties. The school keeps a supply at the ready for boys who need them. So Mike’s beautiful ties are heading their way.

I’m making progress.

Today I googled information about the Sienna Francis House in Omaha, NE, a nonprofit that serves the homeless and provides both temporary and permanent housing to people in need. They are always in need of donations, and on their “critical needs” list were men’s socks and underwear. They go through over 600 pair of men’s socks during our harsh Nebraska winters. Mike didn’t have hundreds of pairs, but what he did have will be going there, and hopefully they’ll bring warmth and a smile to the wearers.

I volunteer at a thrift store in a neighboring town, and I have taken a few of Mike’s shirts there. They were ones I didn’t care for in the first place and was kind of glad to see them go. In small rural communities like ours, it’s quite possible I will someday see those shirts walking around town. Not going to do that with Mike’s clothes I have more of an attachment to.

I’m still in a quandry about many of his professional garments — suits, sport jackets, a beautiful full length black dress coat. Not much need for them here in a farming community. I’m reaching out to services that provide assistance to men entering or reentering the work force. Maybe there’s a need there.

We all handle it differently. Clothes are a thing for me. Consequently, I noticed and paid attention to Mike’s clothes, and I still do. I’ve found it easier to relinquish them if I’ve identified a purpose and a useful place for the clothes instead of just stuffing them in a box and carting them off.

I guess this is part of the process of letting go, part of the grieving process, and we all handle it in different ways. A friend lost his wife to cancer a couple years ago. Within days of Mary’s death, his daughters took all her clothes to Good Will. That was his choice.  Still others I know have kept the drawers and closets filled with their deceased loved ones clothes for years. I’ll probably fall somewhere inbetween.

But it’s going to take some time. I’ve made some progress and will continue to explore options. But as the song goes, letting go is hard to do. It’s hard letting go of him, of all the familiar things that belonged to him. If I keep them, he’s, in a sense, still here. Truth be told, if I get rid of his things, I worry that I’ll forget him. 

An article in the Huff Post caught my attention and helped me sort through some of my feelings: “The Profound Way That Keeping a Loved One’s Clothes Can Help You Grieve.”

The article talked about the difference between acute grief and integrated grief. Acute being what I experienced in those early days after this death — the pain, the shock and almost the disbelief that he was really gone. Then there’s the integrated grief, the kind we learn to live with, that becomes part of the new reality of our life. But it’s a process, to be sure. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross identified the five stages of dealing with death, moving from denial, to anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. But it’s not a linear process. I continue to jump around the various stages. There’s no real end game as I strive for that level of integrated grief.

Clothing helps me move along the path. It’s part of the transition. Bottom line, I can’t go around grief; I have to go through it. Kind of like going “through” all of his clothes. As the article affirmed, there is no right or wrong way, but as I sort through the loss, clothes can help. Something to touch, to look at, smell, experience. I’ve lost my husband, but I didn’t lose the relationship. Clothing is one of my connections to him.

In this process of relinquishing, repurposing and recycling, I’ve also realized I don’t need to ‘get rid’ of everything. I can keep some things. It’s actually important that I do. There’s an instagram post called TheKeepthings where people have posted items they treasure that belonged to a loved one. The author has put together stories and photos submitted by her readers, affirming that it is both comforting and healing to keep things that belonged to your departed loved one.

Here’s one of the things I’m doing. I call them my “container stories:” a collection of treasured items, mostly t-shirts, that I’ve put in a plastic tub and put on a shelf in that big bedroom closet.

Those t-shirts bring smiles and fun memories each time I look at them. Like Bill Murray’s classic line from Caddyshack or Will Ferrell’s hilarious ‘more cowbell’ skit on SNL. 

Certain things will remain even though they won’t fit in the container. The straw hat will hang forever on the hook at the cabin. A classy fedora, even though he seldom wore it, stays in its box because it reminds me of the bond he had with his grandson.

Back to the big closet in the master bedroom. Surprisingly (or maybe not) I’ve started to fill up both racks. Haven’t gone on a shopping spree. Just given everything a little more breathing room. Of course there are still plenty of Mike’s things there. The golf shirts are shoved to the back, but I’ll bring them forward come spring and may decide to send them off to a thrift shop. 

His beautiful sweaters remain in a few drawers. But one in particular I brought out. It was one he really liked and felt comfortable in. So do I. I can feel him, even smell a little bit of him. It’s sweet and sorrowful all at the same time. I’ve been cuddling up in it on these cold winter nights. It reminds me he was here, that he lived. No amount of wishing and hoping will change things or bring him back. But his memory will linger. Right now there are still tears amid the smiles as I work through his clothing. The knubby gray sweater sure feels good.

At least I got that going for me.