Some hard things get easier

Sandy had a lot of clothing, despite her frequent complaints to the contrary. I gathered it all together from the dresser drawers, bedroom closet, the storage container under the bed, the suitcase that had seasonal clothes tucked into it, the closet in her room, boxes of clothes in the basement, and so on. Everywhere I wandered in the house, I found more of Sandy's clothing. (I'm still finding more, including two sweatshirts in the car when I cleaned it out before donating it.)

I evaluated it all, and was surprised to realize that I could wear much of it myself. In fact, more than half of her clothing fit me in style and size. (It helps that I tend to wear my clothing a little on the large side.) There were a few other things I kept for sentimental reasons. (For example, the dress she wore the night we got together is something I'll never wear, but I'll also never part with.)

When she sang with the Seattle Women's Chorus, they wore
these outfits. Later, she repurposed the shirt and the jacket
for Vividcon and a few other festive occasions. So even
though there were probably 50 women with that exact outfit,
the clothes have become uniquely Sandy's and need to go to
someone who will appreciate them.

Everything else I heaped in a pile and offered up to friends and family. Several people have taken things, but still the pile was huge. Today, I went through what remains and separated the special pieces from those that she either didn't wear all that much or didn't particularly care for. Four boxes are ready for Goodwill (in addition to three that have already gone), and I've hung the special things in her closet until they are claimed by people who love her.

Even three months ago, the idea of giving most of that pile to Goodwill physically hurt. I couldn't do it, both because I couldn't irretrievably let go of things that belonged to Sandy and because I feared that someone would want something of hers and I'd have nothing left that I was willing to give away.

But I've changed. It felt good today to box up a bunch of stuff for Goodwill, freeing up space in the house and in my brain. I enjoyed acknowledging that some of the clothing really wasn't meaningful to her, and she'd have been happy to donate it. And it pleased me that what remains are things that do have meaning, that deserve the space until I find the right people to give them to.

Shortly after Sandy died, I read some advice for grievers that said, basically, don't feel you have to do all the hard things at once. If it's hard, set it aside and come back to it later. At the time I thought that meant you should just space them out, but that the tasks would remain hard. I couldn't imagine anything getting any easier. But weirdly, many things have. In fact, the presence of that pile of clothing had become more of a burden than disposing of it was.

Now I'm wondering about the other things that are too hard today. When might they become doable? Will I someday be able to travel again? To spend weekends at our favorite places? I hope so.