Wednesday

The Closet

The closet in our master bedroom looks like a war zone.

It literally looks like it was ransacked by a free-range crackhead.

Normally it's quite organized and clutter-free, since I used to be miss everything has it's place and that's where it will go.

Now?? It looks like some of the places you see on one of those cable messy home shows.

The rest of my house is pristine, everything in it's place, clean and normal.

I haven't always been a neat freak. I was as messy as the next teenager. But taking care of an dementia riddled eventually diagnosed with Alzheimer's grandmother will make you realize the value of stuff being where it's supposed to be. And having a husband who likes things as you do, score !! Clean and organized house that is still comfy but not a hot mess, a BIG THUMBS UP ! Plus, G would do his thing too, he was an expert of the Swiffer !! (Or Swiffle, as he liked to call it).

The closet that I want to forget?? **shudder**

And it's a shame because it's a "double-walk in", which is like a room unto itself.

It started off innocently enough. I finally washed the last loads of laundry that were around in the week or so after Gregory died, folded them neatly and put them in their baskets.

I started putting stuff away, and arrived at his favorite t-shirt.

The shirt we got while we were in Florida for our first "bike week."

The shirt he asked me to help him pick out.

The shirt he liked because the dog on it "looks like Ted Terrific."

The shirt he wore on our honeymoon.

On our trip to Marco Island.

Our parties in New Orleans.

Our trip back to Poplarville.

Just hanging out.

The shirt he was wearing when he got his first ever tattoo. He called his tattoo his "mid-life crisis", and I immediately told him that I was his mid-life crisis.

The shirt that he wears wore while smiling that big goofy smile that I am so in love with.

This one.



This shirt brought me to my knees. I held onto this shirt and cried and wailed and threw a tantrum a teething baby would be proud of, and when it was finally so soaked with tears that I thought I couldn't smell him anymore? I put it on.

Then I took the basket and the other one that was full and set them in the closet, where his clothes still hang. And mine too. Day by day, I would pick up a shoe, or see one of his coats hanging in the hall or in one of the entryways, and to the closet it would go.

Along with towels that don't need folding right this second, clean sheets and bedding that needs to go to it's spot but still sits in it's basket, and things that I might wear but probably won't but if I do I'll just throw them in the dryer to knock the wrinkles out.

That closet is like me. When the door is closed, it looks like just another normal place. But open the door, and it's a mass of jumbled things that don't know exactly where to go, what to do or how they got there.

It just keeps hoping that someone will finally take the time to come along and fix it and make it right again.

13 comments:

insertwittytitleheremomstired said...

That day will come. For now, you and the closet need to let yourselves be messed up, different than usual and reflect exactly how you're feeling. Soon enough you'll be able to venture into yourself and the closet and slowly but surely start putting everything back in place. Naturally things will never be the same, but you both will be put back together knowing something is missing but that you'll be okay.

BeautifulWreck said...

You will get to it eventually. And when you finally do, it will be the right time for you.

metalmom said...

It's said that the first step is recognizing the 'problem' but in your case,I see no problem. You clearly recognize that your feelings are directly reflected in the closet. You will clear the closet soon enough. Not when you stop missing Greg, but when you are ready to stop hurting so keenly.
Time, baby. Just time.

XO

Elizabeth said...

I can't add anything to what's already been said.

I wanted to let you know I'd been here and tell you how much I admire your ability to recognize and put your feelings out there......whether we're laughing or crying with you.

Maybe you missed your calling. Maybe you should have been a therapist. :)

TexasRaceLady said...

You are making progress, Kimmers. You may not think so, but you are definitely moving forward.

For now, just shut the door to the closet. You'll know when it is time to open it and straighten it out.

(((HUGS)))

sybil law said...

xoxoxoxo

marty said...

Kim, you've given the term "coming out of the closet" a different meaning.

Whether something goes in or comes out of the closet is purely up to you.

HEATHER said...

I'm new around here. I stopped by after Heather(Coal Miner's Grand Daughter)posted about meeting you. I've been following since then but haven't commented. Your writing breaks my heart. I am so sorry about the loss of your husband.
I am so sorry that the wine company treated you like a non person. My heart breaks for you over the loss of the relationship with your step-son. All I can say is karma will get his mother sooner or later.
I wish I could give you a hug and tell you it would get better. It won't ever get better but it will get to the point that hopefully the hurt won't be so raw.
God bless!

Maria @BOREDmommy said...

I'm sending you the BIGGEST hugs

Coal Miner's Granddaughter said...

Shit, girl. Don't worry one damned minute about that closet. You're right in that I think that closet and your psyche are probably linked. So, work on your psyche, your grief. When that begins to be less ragged, I bet on that day you'll clean out that closet. And be happy and well doing it.

And I love you.

So Not Wishy Washy said...

You should be a mess inside. There is no timeline. There are no necessary explanations. There is just you. And Greg. And healing.

All in due time.

The fact that you drew this incredibly painful yet beautiful analogy to make us understand your pain more fully is just amazing to me. Thank you for continuing to keep us informed and trusting us with your most intimate thoughts and emotions.

Lynda said...

After my sister died, my whole house kind of got that way. Of course, my ex-husband couldn't be bothered to help clean either.

Miss Britt said...

What metalmom said.