TheBanyanTree: Avoidance

[Margaret R. Kramer]

I want to go through Ray’s clothes, but I what want to do and what I do are
not the same.  I’ve touched his clothes in the closet, peeked in his
dressers, and cried when I went through the more personal items in his night
stand dresser.  I held the name tags from work, a business card of mine, and
a couple of photos of his kids close to my heart and cried.

I imagine myself sorting through his shirts.  Ray didn’t care about clothes,
so most of his shirts have splotches of paint spattered on them.  He would
wear a suit to paint if he could get away with it.

The stuff in the dresser is more of a challenge.  Is it OK to donate barely
used underwear and socks?  He has nice pairs of shorts he wore in the
summer.  His jeans are full of paint and grease and other signs of a man who
worked with his hands.  There are several pairs of brightly colored swimming
trunks.

Finally, there is the night stand dresser with three drawers.  The top
drawer is where the personal items are found.  The second drawer has an
unused latch hook rug kit.  And the last drawer is empty.  Just like me,
kind of empty.

I’ll sort the clothes into the following - the throw away pile, the keep in
Ray’s tub of memories pile, and the donate pile.  It should take me less
than an hour.  But I keep putting it off.

I know he doesn’t need his clothes.  They’re taking up space in the closet
and dressers.  They’re not right out there in my face, so it’s easy for me
to forget about them.  But I need to do it.  And I will.  Just maybe not
today.

I got a call on my cell phone from Ray, did I tell you that?

I was checking through all the calls on my cell phone the other day; the
missed calls, the received calls, the sent calls, and I saw a call from Ray
on 5/12/08 at 10:45 am.  It was a received call and lasted for three
seconds.  I don’t remember it.  Ray died on 2/25/08 and this cell phone
number of his was long dead, dead like him, dead almost a year before Ray
died, since it was set up on a minutes card.  No explanation makes any
sense, except that somehow Ray tried to get in touch with me.

I love it when Ray tries to keep in contact.  If I find money, which I don’t
too often, I always thank him.  Sometimes, during the night, I feel him in
our bedroom, looking for his place on our bed.

Ray would not like this summer.  It’s been cool and very rainy.  Everything
is green and the gardens are growing well, but it isn’t really summer when
we have to keep the windows shut and snuggle down into our winter blankets.
We have not been to the beach.  It hasn’t been hot enough for the beach.

And keeping in line with my split personality, I’m still seeing my
boyfriend, who is more of a lover than a boyfriend.  As each week passes, we
fall deeper in love.  I often wonder if our love will ever run out of room;
it just keeps expanding as we continue to get to know each other.

I keep waiting for the shoe to drop, gosh, no one can really be that
perfect, but he hasn’t let me down yet.  He’s always there for me, he does
what he says he’s going to do, and he watches my back.  I try to watch his,
but he’s stronger than I am.  I fill my hands with his strong body and bring
him close to me.

So, it’s kind of weird to be grieving for my husband and then on the other
hand, so in love that I ache.  Never, not in a million years, did I imagine
finding someone after Ray died.  I thought I could suck it up and be without
a partner for the rest of my life.  Well, I guess life offers some strange
twists and turns.

Margaret R. Kramer
margaretkramer at comcast.net
margaret.kramer at polarispublications.com

www.polarispublications.com

Even if happiness forgets you a little bit, never completely forget about
it.
~Jacques Prévert
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