Clothes
I've been using his socks, since I'm perpetually out of socks somehow or other - I always feel like I should have enough hand-knit ones to last me, but of course I don't really. The other clothes I haven't done anything with. I especially haven't moved the towels he used on his last day alive. They smell of soap and his moisturizer and him, and it's comforting to stand and rub my cheek on them and inhale.
I was ready for how hard it would be to do anything with The Clothes. I was not ready for how hard it is to deal with my own clothes. The dress I wore to a party. The pants I bought on a trip to the UK and never wore. The jacket he gave me for Christmas last year. Scarves, shoes, gloves--can I please not remember? or no, really, I do want to remember. It's all part of my life with him, and I want so badly for that to still be my life.
Yesterday was one of the really hard days. Today, not so much. I am only crying a bit today. Bad days, I start crying while I'm in the shower, and go on errands and scream alone in the car, screaming how much I want him back want him back want him back, god damn it. It's wordless, just sobbing and, well, the screaming. I want to both feel better and not let go of feeling shitty. I want to hold tightly to my pain. I do not want to "get over" him. I never did.
I'm still knitting a sock. Very, very slowly, but knitting it. I don't really think I have the mental capacity to design right now (hey, I'm iffy on crossing the room), or figure out the placement of motifs on the sleeves for either the leaf cardigan (for me) or the Dale (for him). Especially the Dale. He was looking forward to wearing it, and the weather is nearly perfect for it. He would have loved today.
posted by Liz @ 6:27 PM
7 Comments:
What to say. What to say. There's nothing to say at all, Liz. I still think about you a lot, every day, in fact. I hope that helps in some small bit.
I send you hugs and good thoughts, Liz. All the time, not just when you post.
For months after my Dear Dad was killed in a car accident I would cry and cry in the shower each morning and then as soon as I went to bed tears would stream down my pillow until I went to sleep.
We have to let our emotions and pain out somehow. We don't ever "get over" someone we truly loved, I guess we just learn to live life differently.
Take care xx
I cry at the beauty of your words, the eloquence of your self-expression, and the depth of your pain...the loss that isn't, or at least, shouldn't be, because the love is still so present, even though the beloved is not. I hold you close in my heart, sending silent strength, hopefully, through the ether, many times each day as I think of you, and him, and you without him.
I still have my grandmother's hankies in a ziploc bag and they still smell like her. She passed on almost 20 years ago.
Hon, this isn't something you get over, it's something you get through.
We got you covered.
Have as many bad days as you need to, Liz. We'll be right here. I am thinking of you.
While we were moving, just down the hall, I was pulling out WIP's. And I pulled out my Dale, that I started, when you started your Dale, so similar. And I looked at it, and I remembered your Dale, and who it was for, and I sat down and cried for you, and life, and the fact that everything can change so quickly. I think of you often, and with much love. It was wonderful to see you the other night, thank you for coming to visit us.
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