Tuesday, November 23, 2010
I wasn't ready to do it. But I had to. My house is for sale and I'm hoping to be moving soon. It doesn't make sense to pack up all of Mike's belongings and move them across the country, right? If I were staying, these clothes would probably stay right where they are forever, so I could keep sneaking away to the closet and burying my face in the shirt sleeves, trying to breathe him in.
Marina and Lisa came in for the weekend to help me tackle the unpleasant task of cleaning out the closet and drawers, sorting through Mike's possessions, including his beloved music collection. Without them, I don't think I would have gotten through.
We picked out some CDs and albums to keep. I made a box for Julia with his tennis trophy and newspaper articles. I kept the tennis racket and his glasses. I kept a shirt of his that I loved, the one he bought one time in Savannah when we ran into a Banana Republic to get out of the rain. It's probably the only time we ever went clothes shopping together.
As we were folding and sorting and putting things into boxes for Goodwill, I couldn't help but feel like I was erasing the evidence of Mike's existence. It really broke my heart. I have to keep telling myself that Mike was not his clothes. Mike was not his possessions. I have evidence of his existence right here...