I COULD LEARN TO HATE CLEANING HOUSE ...

Today Bob's dresser drawers and hanging closet organizer was cleared.

His underwear went into the trash can - I had hung onto them, even though my eyes would dart around the room when that top drawer was opened if I needed to retrieve something - like a password the kids were asking for and I thought maybe Bob had secreted it away in that drawer. His private drawer. I kept the underwear and socks because they were the most intimate things that had last touched his body - and I needed to KNOW there was STILL a tangible substance that held a semblance of his essence. They were of no value to anyone but him. And me. But, into the trash can they went this morning. I kept the socks - those I can use ... and though they are several sizes too big for my feet, I will MAKE THEM FIT my feet: and in this way I will feel that in this small way, Bob is still present with me:

Then I moved 1 drawer down and removed his jeans ...

This was the hardest thing for me to do. I don't know why; but it was. Perhaps it was because in my mind's eye I could still see the way he walked ... and I liked watching the way the jeans moved when he walked. Bob was of Finn & Asian background, so he didn't have much of an ass; but what little he had, looked pretty fine to me. And I LIKED watching those jeans flex and move when he moved. But, this morning, I gathered them up in a bunch and put them in the trash. Without a tear. I was afraid to cry - crying might be my undoing: and I had things to do.

Like completely cleaning out the dresser; and what little was still in the closet.

In December, following Bob's graduation, I had cleared the closet immediately of Bob's shirts, jackets, and coats - even the shoes - because I knew if I didn't, I would have died a thousand deaths every time I opened the closet doors that first week of Widowhood. Bob's youngest brother and his son came when I called them, and took everything that was hanging on hangers; or on the floor, out of Bob's side of our closet. BLESS THEM!

But, we forgot about the hanging clothes organizer.

That still needed clearing.

I grabbed the brand-new jeans that hadn't even had a chance to get washed or worn yet before our world was tilted last August and shattered beyond repair September through December 14th, 2018. But they didn't fit any of the guys in the family ... and organizations that have their hands out for everything else, didn’t want them either. They didn't {fit} anywhere anymore. So, into the trash can they went. Brand new. And no longer a needful thing. And Bob's #27 football shirt from his High School days went into the trash can too - it really needed to go; it was literally disintegrating: it was, after all, 55 years old - and had been used hard. Again, I kept the extra socks he kept in the hanging organizer.

Mitts and gloves I knitted for him were also grabbed and tossed - at this point my mind had been shifted into neutral: I wasn't thinking. I didn't want to think. I was acting on instinct, and I NEEDED to keep moving. In neutral.

I am keeping his Lemmon's Trucking baseball cap. It still SMELLS like him ... I haven't sniffed all of his personal manly odor out of it yet; I have been frugal with my sniffing. I know how weird that sounds, but I am a weirdo. I am not ashamed to claim my weirdness in this my new life - my widowhood. My weirdness is what keeps me sane in my currant upside down life. That baseball hat and the odor associated with it vibrates with Bob's essence. I am keeping it until it, like his football shirt, finally disintegrates.

This morning I cleaned house.

I think I could learn to hate cleaning house ...