Goodbye to Endless Winter

After a couple of days with temps in the eighties, I decided to put away my winter clothing. I may regret it, as May weather in New England can be unstable. We are advised not to plant tomatoes until Memorial Day weekend. The eager gardeners who cannot resist often regret it.

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First, I attack the basket in the front hallway, overflowing with gloves, hats, and scarves. Each winter I lose at least one glove in a parking lot, or leave a wool scarf or hat in a restaurant. It’s always a favorite, why is that so? At first it stings, then it’s forgotten.

Uh-oh, weather report just came in: Tonight will begin a significant downturn in the warm temperatures we’ve had this week. Severe T-storms, wind advisory.

But momentum carries me forward. After I transfer the contents of the basket to the top shelf of the hall closet, the real work begins—figuring out where I put my summer stuff away in the fall of 2017, then deciding what to keep and what to donate. It’s a time-consuming “first world” process that also involves spending an hour trying on some questionable items.

Do I own too much? And why do I have so many black tops? What possessed me to buy this olive green sweater in the first place? What is my style now? I wish this dress still fit me.

Over the years of my law career, I acquired many beautiful outfits of professional quality and design. I remember the “power-suits” with shoulder pads in the 1980s lined up in my closet, on the ready for a court appearance. High-heeled shoes and a leather briefcase completed the intimidating look.

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Eventually, the height of shoulder pads subsided and suits lost their status. Dresses became popular—this meant more shopping trips, with damage to the budget if I was in the vicinity of Bloomingdales. Court still requires a more formal level of dress for attorneys, but that’s not my problem anymore!

Now there is the trend—decluttering, minimalism, downsizing—that drives the economy and social media. First, buy lots of stuff—clothing for each new season and a staggering variety of household items—then get (or pay for) advice on how to organize but preferably discard as much as possible.

Those who lose a loved one surely will keep many possessions owned, collected, used, treasured. Yet, we are faced with questions about “cleaning out,” especially clothing. There is some pressure to it, unfairly so: “How long are you going to keep his stuff? Are you ready yet? Have you thought about donating to a charity? Couldn’t you use more room? It’s a healthy sign of moving on with your life” (in someone’s opinion).

Beware of “to do” lists, whether offered by others or online or self-imposed.

We didn’t want this to happen in the first place. For a long time we, the bereaved, are not ready to accept loss on any level—even something that looks like a simple task. Because it’s NOT simple— it’s fraught with complicated emotion. It was so comforting to keep everything around me undisturbed—clothing, tools, worn leather wallet with bills unspent—without having to explain why.

In my loss-of-partner bereavement group, a few sold their houses immediately and gave everything away. Others struggled to determine the “appropriate time” to undertake the sad project. We supported each other on our own unscheduled paths of grief, with their setbacks and victories, wherever and whenever they took us.

In that first year, magical thinking prevailed. What if our husbands or wives came back and the coats they needed were gone? Or, were we overriding and dishonoring our partners by throwing away what they chose so carefully for themselves? The irony is that most of us were appointed as health care proxies to make ultimate life and death decisions. All of it was equally hard.

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Two winters later, I opened Paul’s closet and bureau, feeling stronger in my memory of him and less attached to the contents. I kept some of his favorite things: the tattered plaid flannel shirt he favored for outdoor work, the tweed wool blazer with suede elbow patches, the jeans for the garden, ripped, the chinos for the shop, pressed. The light gray suit with the pink paisley tie he bought at Nordstrom—he wore it once, for our daughter’s June wedding.

On a dreary March morning, I managed it. Packed, stacked, tied, and labeled, the boxes stood lined up in the front hallway, obedient soldiers ready to march out the door, out of our house, out of my life. There’s no turning back.

The light rain jacket remains in the hall closet for our sons to use when they visit.

Finishing up with my organizing project this afternoon, I can’t help but think, what fits into my life now? I live in the same house. I drive the same vehicle. Yet the season around me is changing…..but at the same time repeating the reassuring process of forsythia blooming, lilacs soon to follow.

Winter threatens its nasty little comeback tonight, but change will easily defeat it. Mother Nature will summarily slap it down—you go girl!

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Some things that change, some things that we lose, are out of our control. But we have some choices imbedded in our day nevertheless. I’ve decided to keep my worn jeans for working in the garden. I’ll weed out and donate the tailored dresses I wore to the courthouse.

I can’t bring back the past, but I will plant and tend to the vegetable patch—to honor and acknowledge who Paul was, the inner city Dorchester kid who quit school but took on the world and lived a life beyond his wildest dreams. I can’t bring back my dear friend Neila but I planted an honorary daffodil drift near the wrought iron gate to keep her memory fresh in my heart and the landscape brightened with hope.

Winter seemed endless, but it’s really change that endures.