Are You In? -- Incubus

This past weekend we had a task. One which we had been putting off for over four years now.

Cleaning out Mom's side of the closet. Four tubs, stacks of shoe boxes, all the hanging garments. It took us quite a while to sort through everything.

Mostly we considered what we could, would, wouldn't, couldn't wear of everything. The strangest thing was that Mom had at least one piece of clothing of ours! A pair of Amy's jeans; Daniel's Browns, Spielman jersey; my old t-shirt, and a hat of Sarah's, just to name a few.

We also found some pieces from back in the day, which Sarah and I modeled. (I came home with a very Miami Vice plaid blazer that you'd have to see to believe!) We found a zippered bag that, Dad told us, contained the dress she wore on their wedding night after they'd changed from their ceremonial attire. And just let me tell you, Mom was tiny! My thigh would have fit comfortably in the waist of that dress.

Not to mention that Dad has impeccable taste in clothing, so the closet was full of trendy suits, coats, blazers and blouses. Recounting it now makes me feel wretched. Like wearing the clothes she gave me isn't strange enough, but it was the fact that we were going through everything like each piece we kept--a scarf, a t-shirt, a nightgown--was like trying to hold onto the fleeting pieces of her. These clothes were what we had left of things inherently Mom. We were perusing the items saying, "I remember that one," and, "She wore that all the time."

We set aside things we knew her sisters might like, and allotted only a box of shoes to the give-away, but only after, of course, the Aunts went through them. A lot of things were left, really, for the Aunts to go through. But we ALL got something of hers, something we had missed that was ours too!

Some things that were iconic Mom outfits we kept to put into an acid-free box as keepsakes, like the dresses she had set aside, and a few of our own choosing. And yet another pile was dedicated to interesting t-shirts and printed pajamas she wore all the time, with which we intend to make a blanket (But first I guess I'm going to have to master the freakin sewing machine, because the tension is all off on mine and I haven't tried to use it in over a year!).

I haven't cried, if that means anything, but I've been trying to stay positive about the whole thing. It's just one more piece of letting go.