I thought I was getting better. I thought I was getting stronger. I thought I could handle it, but it turns out not as well as I thought. It is finally going through Mom’s clothes. The ones that have been hanging in my closet for the last nineteen months. I thought that I could pack and donate them to someone who could really use warm clothes this time of year. With every piece that I folded and placed in the box, I cried harder. I thought of asking J to help me, but this was something I needed to do by myself, for myself.
Since she died, I hide in there whenever I want to feel close to her. I hold her clothes tight to me, trying to breathe in her comforting scent. I long to sit with her, talk with her, hear her voice one more time. I’m so lonely for her.
I finally got everything packed. Well, almost everything. I couldn’t force myself to part with her favorite sweatshirt, the one she made me launder at night so she could wear it again the next day. That one will remain in my closet until the day comes when someone needs to sort through and donate my things. In the meantime, it’s there waiting for the next time I need to hug her. Love you Mom.