Clothing

Today I cleaned out EG's dresser and closet. I bagged up the clothes in some wonderful paper bags we got the last time we went to the natural foods markets, and I put them in the car and drove them to Goodwill.

No one came out to the loading area despite me driving over the ding-ding cable several times, so I put all those bags on the dock and drove off without them. It was symbolic somehow, leaving his things behind, the sport coats, the ties, his jeans which never were the right length. The suit he wore when we got married. All were setting there on the concrete as I, weeping, went on to the next thing on my to-do list.

In less than a month, I have gone from being content and really rather happy, to someone who is in huge, banging pain all the time. And most likely, who could BE a huge, banging pain as well. What amazes me is how thoughtless people are: the woman who called and then complained about her husband's lack of consideration for over thirty minutes, the people who call me up and say, "I am worried about you--you aren't yourself." And there are those who keep mentioning that they want to DO something. It seems counter-intuitive to me, verbalizing how they want to lessen my burden and "help," but meanwhile, the pressure becomes a burden in itself.

I am not myself--part of me is gone, and the other part is in shock. I know that this is the new reality and I have to live in it. Everyone has to move on with their lives: we cannot freeze ourselves here in this sadness. Otherwise, I am no different than the clothes on the loading dock, being left behind while life moves on to the next thing.