Sunday June 19, 2011
My bras and lace panties are sitting on top of my dresser along with two pearl necklaces and a white gold chain and diamond pendant. They have sat here for over a month because of an emotional paralysis, a refusal to face the reality of my loss, not because of a lack of drawer space or because I’m disorganized or lazy. This is a clear-cut case of avoidance. I’m a pro at distractions.
I’ve been planning to empty the closet dresser, which my husband used for his underwear, socks, Tee-shirts, shorts, and handkerchiefs—-donate them and make the switch. It’s sensible, more convenient, and much more practical to have my underwear, shorts, tights, and lingerie in close proximity to where I shower. Yes, that’s why I have to rearrange the drawer space. At least that’s what I tell myself.
Another reason I need to empty out the drawers is that they are a constant reminder of what I’ve lost; of what is no longer present or possible. Having them in the master bedroom walk-in closet, which I visit on a daily basis, seems to be an intrusion of my thoughts, bringing about emotions at unexpected times.
Today, June 19, my first Father’s Day without Michael, seems to be the appropriate day to complete an uncomfortable task that I’ve avoided for so many days.
I peek into the top drawers and touch the socks so neatly paired together. It’s as if feeling the softness of the cotton between my index finger and thumb might bring about his presence–might resurrect him, if only for a moment, in this very room. I lean down hoping to inhale his familiar scent, but instead breathe air that smells musty and stale. It’s almost like the garments have lost their identity, their sense of being, their purpose. They are no longer used. They have lost their value. I know now they must be packed up and donated. And so my task begins.
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