I started one day a month ago but I couldn’t handle it. I stopped. And this morning I began again.
I know that I need to get Jody’s clothes out of the house, but it’s hard. So many memories of my darling wife enjoying her bright ensemble. One of the first items I looked at was Jody’s wedding dress. What a fine day that was … June 25, 1988. My sister-in-law Nona said that I could put the dress in storage, but that didn’t feel right, and it still doesn’t. I’m going to give all of Jody’s clothes to Goodwill. Right now, I’m looking at a 24×36″ poster of my lovely wife that’s hanging on our family room wall. She’s beautifully wrapped in the dress and veil. But all that whiteness is not the woman I love. “Let go of my clothes, Bruce. They’re not me.” Okay, Jodiette.
My favourite photo of Jody is of her sitting in a Quebec City restaurant, looking at me. She’s wearing a short-sleeved top, with horizontal stripes of light and dark blue. When I found it hanging in our closet a month ago, I held it to my chest and cried. “Let it go, Bruce.” So I did, folding it gently and adding it to the pile in a huge clear plastic bag. Sigh.
This morning, I made an agreement with myself to work on Jody’s clothes for an hour. I kept my word. But now I’m exhausted. An hour in a closet … remembering, crying and packing. Also marvelling at the beauty of Jodiette’s tops and pants and dresses. The colours of the rainbow, reflecting my girl’s embracing of life. How I miss you, dear one.
I held a scalloped green-turquoise-black dress, adorned with glitter.
“You’re so pretty in these pretty clothes, life wife.”
“Thank you, husband.”