Hello beautiful soul!
This weekend I cleaned out my father's bedroom closet. It's been 9.5 months since he left his body. It was time for me to gather up his remaining clothes.
I've made previous visits to his closet with my kids, each time encouraging them to try on his clothes and take what they liked.
Each time, holding my breath and silently hoping for every last sock and t-shirt to be a perfect fit.
Then, I might be able to hold onto more of my dear Dad.
For 44 years my Dad used that closet. Through sickness and health. Good times and bad.
This weekend, the closet shared the rest of its memories with me.
The garments whispered their stories as I folded them and placed them into donation bags.
The blue terry cloth bathrobe he wore when he was feeling unwell bid me farewell after decades of service.
Unpartnered socks told stories of frustrated humans searching for lost mates, leading their successors to a life of confinement in tiny plastic circles.
My strong fingers couldn't pry loose the hard plastic rings that bound these socks together.
Into the donation bag the strangled socks went.
A t-shirt with a silly photo of my first-born in a pirate costume...an amusing gift from two decades prior that made him smile in hard times.
Baseball caps embroidered with the names of golf courses enjoyed with friends.
Two matching black caps with red chili peppers that said BITE ME told the story of a Thai dinner celebrating my sister's graduation in Chicago many moons ago.
The tuxedo that hung in near-perfect condition, worn at my own wedding, had me pause....just maybe there was a different purpose for it.
So I moved it to a different closet.
I called my youngest son to come "one more time to try on the rest of grandpa's clothes before they're gone".
My son saw the hope in my teary eyes as he dutifully tried on his grandpa's wardrobe for the last time.
We added more to our "keep" pile, and I exhaled.
Holding onto my father's personal items makes me feel more connected to him.
He was a minimalist so the things he owned were the things he really liked.
That has been a wonderful life lesson for me: Cherish what you love and let the rest go.
I returned home with a grieving heart.
I turned on my kitchen lights to search for a snack.
One of my LED light bulbs had burned out the week prior, even though they are supposed to last an additional 15 years.
Frustrated with this now-darkened corner of the kitchen, I groused about having to call an electrician.
The very next morning, the light flickered to life. I stared at it, disbelieving.
Then I realized: It's my Dad.
He's drawn nearer as I experience this next wave of grief.
He's giving me a tangible, physical sign using the electrical circuits in my home.
Thanks, Dad.
If you are grieving a loved one, my heart is with you.
It is a painful walk, but you are not alone.
Your beloved is with you, maybe even tinkering with your electricity to get your attention.
