Forced Closet Clean Out

I was forced into cleaning out Mike's clothes yesterday. It is funny because weeks ago I bought boxes, but I just couldn't do it. So the boxes have been sitting in another closet waiting. Yesterday, I got home from church and the rack holding my clothes ripped out from the wall and all my clothes were on the floor. Mike had the top rack and I had the bottom rack - yes I am the short one in the family. After a few tears, I took a deep breath and began the task. It was bigger than it seems, because in order to move the special clothes into the other closet in our room, it meant I had to clean out that one too.

So I laid Mike's clothes on the bed and waited for Elizabeth to get home from the Texas State Fair. She sat on the bed and she said, "I'm not ready to get rid of Daddy's clothes." I asked her why and the only answer she would give me is "because". I pushed her because I wanted her to verbalize the why, and she said, "Don't you think I have lost enough all ready?" (Ouch..) We talked more about others that could use the clothes, etc.. In the end, we boxed up 90% of the clothes, moved the box into the guest room to wait for another day, and left the very special ones hanging in the front bedroom closet.

Now for anyone who knew Mike, his wardrobe of choice was always black t-shirt and jeans. Actually that was his second choice. His first choice would always be the flight suit. We did not boxed up any of those t-shirts, and Elizabeth continues to sleep in her Daddy's t-shirts every night. I doubt that will ever changed.

I wonder about the rack falling down in the closet yesterday. In looking at the construction of it, I am sure more will follow. But why did it fall yesterday instead of when we moved in? Somehow I feel like it was a push to do something that has been in the back of my mind for awhile, but I just couldn't do it. It is really funny sometimes how you walk between just wanting to "rip off the band aid" of grief. You tell yourself if you just put your head down and walk over the hot coals, that it will hurt really bad, but then you won't hurt anymore. But it is not true. Grief is a slow throbbing pain that is constant and has flare ups sometimes. Yesterday was a flare up, but this morning I felt as if a weight had been lifted when I picked out my clothes this morning..... weird.