Holding On and Letting Go

With the help of a dear friend and my goddaughter, I cleaned out my bedroom closet today. May not sound like much fun, but considering the company I had, it actually was. And how lucky am I to have a friend who not only volunteers to help with such a project, but one who does not think a even a bit less of me due to the mini-episode of "Hoarders" she encountered!

I tend to be a sentimental procrastinator under the best of circumstances. 2013 was NOT the best of circumstances. And so, my small walk-in (like a foot-in) closet had become overrun with bags of various seasons of clothing, items of Charlie's that made their way into "my" closet from upstairs where he normally kept his clothes when his mobility began to be impaired, laundry, mis-matched shoes, boxes of photos and cards, and random "stuff" I just couldn't deal with. So, today that closet was emptied and organized and bags were filled to donate and to toss. 

It is really hard for me to get rid of things to which I've attached meaning, especially now. Into the donate bag went at least two pairs of Charlie's shoes. Into the "toss" bag went two pairs of slippers he wore around the house when he was sick and even out of the house to chemo when regular shoes didn't fit. (The only reason they weren't in the donate bag was that a certain puppy had gnawed a bit on both pairs when I wasn't looking). And it was hard.

Even the sad-reason slippers were difficult to part with until I reminded myself that his need for them was nothing to celebrate or memorialize, really. But although Charlie has been gone almost 5 months, there is a part of my heart that thinks he might come back and when he does, what will he put on his feet? (I do know he isn't coming back and that sounds crazy, but honestly I think this is a normal grief feeling, from what I have read and heard from others). 

But you know what made it all easier? A hat. A straw cowboy hat. A hat I convinced Charlie to buy at the Minnesota State Fair a few years ago, because he looked handsome and adorable in it, I thought. We had gone to the fair with my sister and her family and had such a fun day together. Then today that hat came off the shelf and on to my (our) goddaughter's head and she looked so happy and beautiful in it. I could see Charlie's smile as if he saw her wearing it too, and that made me smile. 

I realized today, more than any other day since Charlie's diagnosis, that you can let go and hold on at the same time. I can throw away gnawed slippers and keep the faded chambray shirt I was wearing when he proposed. I can miss him and want him here and yet remember and feel his presence all at once. And I can smile and cry at the same time like I am now. 

Not what I expected to find in my closet today, but grateful that I did.

Love,

Jen