Belongings

When I moved bedrooms many months ago, I cleaned out Mark’s dresser. I had been dreading it but it wasn’t as hard as I thought it was going to be. It was mostly underwear and a lot of socks with no mates, bike shorts and jerseys. Mark’s drawers were always a mess, he would put everything together in whatever drawer had room, shove the drawer closed, and then stand for the longest time in front of the dresser in the morning looking for something. I’d be especially helpful and say, “You know, if you spent a few minutes organizing it this wouldn’t be such a big deal.” Then he’d imitate me in an annoying bitchy voice because 1) it turns out I wasn’t being helpful at all, and 2) he could not be shamed into caring about an underwear and sock drawer.

After days of looking at this dresser like it was a some kind of ticking time bomb about to go off, I pulled a drawer out and started sorting everything. Some things needed to be thrown out, others went into a bag to donate. When my son came by to help me move some furniture, he went through everything to see what he wanted. The bags then got moved to the downstairs bedroom where they sat for months. I decided it was crazy to keep walking around them and put the bags in my car to take to a donation center where they have sat in my trunk for a few more months. I didn’t want to look at these bags and I cannot seem to let them go.

This weekend I cleaned the front closet. It is tiny, I cannot believe the five of us squeezed winter coats, boots, hats and gloves into it when the kids were all at home. When it got to just Mark and I in the house, you would think it would have been less of a mess but that was not the case.

I started by pulling everything out and it overflowed the hallway. Then I pulled the shoe basket out and saw a pair of Mark’s sandals. The dumbest sandals, they had a Velcro strap across them and didn’t fit him at all. Mark’s toes hung over the top and I always told him he should throw them away, but they were good for taking the trash out or running outside in the rain to unclog a downspout. Why in death shoes bring you to your knees is beyond me but they do every single time. I pictured him digging in the bottom of the closet to find them, slipping them on his feet, me seeing his toes hanging out, him running out the front door in them.

Him alive in his shoes.

It didn’t get much better after that. Biking gear, his favorite winter hat, his fleece jacket, gloves, the boots he would wear when he and Will went camping, the waterproof boots he wore when he shoveled snow, the gear of life. Like sorting through his drawers, I did the same thing with the contents of the closet, only this time I couldn’t stop crying. All of it was a heaping pile of loss.

Over these past two years I have read many grief books to make sense of this life and to confirm I am not crazy. Some have been good, others of no help at all. One of them said that when it came to going through your loved one’s belongings to use the barf test. If the thought of it makes you want to throw up you’re not ready. If it doesn’t then you are. But then what?

I often daydream of getting in the car and driving with no destination in mind, just leaving and along the way finding exits that say, 20 Miles to A Great Night’s Sleep, Welcome To Your New Life – No Reservations Required, Gas, Showers, and Bottomless Peace Next Exit. I have imagined so many things while harnessed into this rollercoaster, this being a huge misunderstanding and Mark coming back, or a horrible dream that I wake up from and he is asleep next to me. Or the possibility that it could be different and good once again, a different relationship, happier days where joy comes naturally to me like it used to.

It all churns over and over and over, but in every scenario I have yet to imagine giving away the remains of Mark’s life and not walking away feeling like I’ve lost everything.

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Postscript: Like most things I’ve written since Mark died, this was an attempt to come to terms with the next step. After I wrote this I contacted one of my daughter’s friends who has worked with the homeless for years. She promises that these things are desperately needed and will be used immediately by people living on the street. I think Mark would be okay with that. I’m going to do my best to be okay with that too.