It stays in the closet...

Things; stuff all around in the closet may not be a big deal to some. To others the closet may be cluttered. Some closets are big and some are so small that half of ones wardrobe does not fit in the closet. Closets are useful. Its the small unforeseen area in a house that gets overlooked. No one would expect to find the most precious memories, a persons life, or even that one teddy bear that at one point had meaning. 
      I feel this post will be more different than all my others. I have been having such a longing to write about my closet and the meaning that comes with. My closet does not have bodies or anything worrisome; just that it contains lifetimes of memories that seem like stuff to the naked eye.
    As some of you know my son passed away in 2018. I remember the urgency I felt going through his mementos. How anxious I was because even though our lives were turned upside down that did not mean a thing to time. Time would not stand still for us to grieve; to continue to hold on to his shirt hanging in a closet. I sometimes want to take his stuff out and put it like it was back in his room. Like he never left. How life would be like with him still present. But, instead of having his things left in plain sight, collecting dust, I put his things up neatly in my closet. The things I wanted to keep separately that had more meaning I kept in decorative boxes. His toys, I went through and kept them in a small kids organizer which sits under my husbands clothes. I did not want to give any of his items away. Over time I kept thinking about space. We are not getting smaller in this house but the space in this house is. I still keep and will keep the more precious memories, put up and away in my closet. I am not ready. However, my closet keeps changing.
     Recently, my dad passed away. I was not expecting of it. I loved my dad even if we had two different opinions on how I should live my busy life. The stubborn old coot loved to relax. I chuckle at the thought of his busy which usually depended on what day he was to workout. That's while I was growing up. As I got older and life changed me drastically so did my dad. I loved hearing his deep very wise voice. I miss hearing him say 'Girl, you need to rest and let it go...'. But daddy, I can't let this go. I saw a picture of him the other day and I found myself looking at it longer than anticipated. Each wrinkle, each indention, his facial expression; what was he thinking in that moment and time? Did he know? Was he ready? For him he made up a great deal of my life. The values; the morals; the history were cut a little shorter than I expected. Not to long ago I cleaned out my closet. It took one whole day. I packed my dad's things neatly and organized each little thing. Not all of his things given to me were put in my closet though. I love to show off my dad. What a stud he was and always will be in my eyes. For he was my very first love. But, now, two of my loves lives are in my closet.
     As tears are running down my red flushed cheeks I can only wonder what life would be like after I'm 30 years old. Why 30? My 20's have been nothing but traumatic. Heart break, heart shattering, trauma. I wonder if my closet had feelings, it would feel the same that I do. When someone passes you are left with things. Things they couldn't take with them. Things that are so useful but the one getting to use them is my closet. Thankfully my closet will let me visit these things to reminisce on what once was. The smell of my dad and my son fill the air in my closet. I don't know what my clothes are supposed to smell like because all I can smell is them. Is my closet a shrine now? A shrine to my once present and living blood? To my people? Surely it is not. I do not praise anything or any one other than my heavenly Father; my Lord and Savior. Surely, my closet is not storage. I don't want my closet to just keep things until I'm ready to get rid of. These are not things to get rid of. These things are memories. Memories that have been made since I was born. Surely, my closet is an open shadow box. No, it may not have the glass covering but it does have an entrance and no it may not be displaying items fully but it does have things properly organized. For when I want to look at these items I don't have to ask for permission I can just walk in. 
      But is my closet a place where I can cry in peace? It is so. There is no acoustic which means if I yell out, cry, stomp, or jump up and down no one will be able to hear me. The presence of my closet is a peaceful one. A quiet monetary place for thoughts. Thoughts like these. However, I can't stay in there long. My thoughts then become tainted with guilt, shame, anger, and lots of regret. A place of peace which can easily become a place of manic emotion. 
     Those things will stay in the closet. I know when I am ready or when my kids come to me and ask about my up bringing, or about their brother my closet will always greet me with the sweet sweet memories. No matter the emotion I may feel when I step in to my closet, I know it can be a safe place. Because lets face it, when having gone through the trauma, we all need that safe place.