Letting go...one article of clothing at a time

Well.

I did it.

I got started.

I've been having a string of really good days lately. Even with this stupid cold and everything. I've been getting things accomplished. I've been feeling MUCH better.

So, today, I figured I would start with the small stuff in the closet. And the dresser.

F#(*!!!!!

Much harder than I even thought. (And I knew it wouldn't be easy.)

Well, at first it was easy. I started at the back of the closet. The things that he kept "just in case" he needed to dress up for something.

No big deal. I said to myself, "Well, this is going good. I CAN do this."

I piled all of the dress pants that Eddy (his son) has sent him the last few years. He did wear a couple of them. But when I look at them? They don't remind me of him.

Mission accomplished.

So I moved on to a few dress shirts. Same as above. No big deal. Either I will find someone who wants/needs them...or they will be donated.

I just made sure that everything is folded neatly. And cared for. Just as he would have if he were still here to own them.

Like I said before, he doesn't have too many personal belongings. He was a pretty basic person. (Nothing wrong with that, is there?) But the things he loved? The things he felt comfortable in?

My God.

They are still there. They are scattered randomly in the middle of all of the other shit. His light blue sweatshirt brought me to my knees. Opening up his dresser drawer with his shorts brought me to my knees. (And his absolute favorite pair was on top of the pile...I always made sure that pair was on top after doing laundry.)

It's been so painful to open up those drawers and that closet door for the last 10 months. Sometimes I just need to.

What is more painful is to see how yellowed and dusty everything is getting with time.

Fu#$ing time.

So I neatly folded and stacked the inconsequential items on the bed.

And then I had to take a break. I took my break. I was bound and determined to make some serious progress with this task though.

So I went back in.

I took out his old work shirts. And a few of his favorites. Yet not his ultimate favorites. (You know what I mean...we all have them.) I couldn't even take them off the god damn hangers. They are ON TOP OF the stacks of neatly-folded and never-worn items. Still on hangers. Still yellowed with time. Still dusty.

Those items were in the bi-weekly laundry pile...yet they are yellow and dusty? Doesn't make sense, does it?

Reality.

So now those piles and those clothes on hangers still sit piled up on my bed. MY bed. HIS stuff.

Maybe if I haven't been having so many good-days-in-a-row going on, it would be easier to just throw those piles to the side and get a great night's sleep. But the fact that I'm feeling pretty happy and excited about my life? My future? I somehow can't toss those clothes to the side like they mean nothing. I have enough guilt about clearing them out.

(I know I've said there are things I don't want to share publicly...but one of the few things he spoke of after he knew he would die? He said to me, "So, are you going to get rid of my pillows when I'm gone?"...THAT, to me, meant he didn't want me to get rid of anything of his. Maybe I took it wrong. But THAT is exactly why THIS is so difficult.)

I hope he understands now.

I really hope he understands.

I'm still alive. I NEED to do this.

(I'm so sorry, Chuck. I really am. But I HAVE to do this. To heal. To move on. To be okay. It's time. If it upsets you, please forgive me.)

God, I hope he sees things different now.

I keep thinking that maybe I need to ask someone else to just come over and pack all of it up and get it out of my sight. It's so tempting.

But I can't.

This is something that I will eventually have to face. By myself. I mean, I have to weed through this stuff and choose what to keep for myself, what to keep for the boys, and what to donate. If I do it now, it will give me more of a sense of strength. I could use that feeling every now and then. After all, everyone tells me how strong I am. Shouldn't I feel it for myself?

I just want to know that he's okay with everything I'm doing now. I don't have an ulterior motive. I'm not trying to forget. But when a physical item or items are causing a person more pain than comfort? It's time.

It's time.

Letting go is so fucking hard. (Sorry, Mom...I couldn't bleep it out that time.)

I'm just trying to let go. I have to. Not letting go will keep me miserable. Keep me stuck.

I have to let go. One piece at a time. One shirt at a time.

It's painful. But so necessary. If I don't? I will die. It will kill me. The pain of letting go will be worth it in the end.

I will get through it. If you understand? Great. If not? I'm sorry. I can't make you understand any better than I've tried.

I HAVE to let go of this. It's just "stuff". Sure, it was HIS "stuff". But I have to do this.

So, please, don't judge me or my actions.

I have to live. I'm still alive. My heart is still beating. I'm here.

He's not.

I CAN'T HELP THAT!!!!!!

Nobody can change that.

In the meantime, I need to do what I need to do.

No matter how painful it is.