And so this week’s moment of happiness despite the news.
There are still nice people in this world.
I just felt that needed to be said up front. There’s a lot of craziness happening now, and I think it’s easy to lose sight of that. But over the weekend, I was just awash in nice people, people who were face to face with me, people who were surrounding me online, people in my memories. I was doing a very hard thing, all alone, but I wasn’t alone at all.
I’ve read, and now I’ve found, that one of the hardest things after a loved one dies is going through their belongings and clearing it all out. Now of course, this doesn’t have to be done – the things have a place in the house already, but it turns out there’s this feeling that just comes over you, of having to take care of it all, get it somewhere…and for me, I think it was all about trying so hard to feel like I was in control of my life again.
Since Michael died, I’ve gone through a lot…the clothes closet, the dresser drawers, his counter, his hoarder’s closet, the bag he carried back and forth to work. All of it was hard. But then there was the off-site storeroom.
This was really a lesson in practicality. The storeroom costs $150 a month, and most of it was taken up with Michael’s overflow, things that didn’t fit in the hoarder’s closet, but that needed space, that he wouldn’t let go of, and that I didn’t have the patience to deal with. There was no need to spend that kind of money anymore. And so, last weekend, a weekend where my schedule allowed me a Friday and Monday off, so I had four days, I plucked up my courage and went in.
Now granted, some of the things were mine, and some were jointly owned, like our Christmas stuff. But so much there was Michael’s. Three floor model old time radios. A desk that he loved to write on, but in the room deemed his office, he just couldn’t stop himself from loading it with so many things, he couldn’t even reach the desk, and I ended up removing it all and claiming the space as something else. But we kept the desk anyway, because he couldn’t stand to see it go. Boxes and boxes of stuff, a lot of which contained things from his desks at work, and that he brought home when he lost yet another job.
I dug into it all. And in all of it, I kept finding memories of nice people. As I dug through the box he brought home from his dream job at a local theater, I remembered how the theater decided his position was unnecessary, especially at his pay rate…but they didn’t let him go until I was through with my radiation treatments, so that we would have the health insurance to pay our medical bills.
Nice people.
The latest box, brought to me from the job he was coming home from – not walking away from – on the day he was hit by the passenger van. He only had that job for a year, but we both felt he’d found a home away from home. His boss and coworkers came to the hospital to see him, and visited him once he was at home. The phone calls they made to me, to make sure I was doing okay. Keeping his desk for him, ready for his return, until we all knew he wasn’t coming back. Coming to the Celebration of Life and crying with me as if they’d known him for years and years, and not 12 months.
Nice people.
The boxes from work were what affected me the most. There were so many things he kept at work, to remind him of home. There was a photo of me, professionally taken soon after we were married. I surprised him with it at Christmas. I dressed in a men’s business shirt, wrapped Michael’s tie that boasted old time radios around my neck, posed with his model of an old time radio microphone, and held a sheet of paper, as if I was on an old time radio show. I showed up at the photographer’s with a box full of antique radios and this get-up, told him what I wanted to do, and he even helped me to tie the tie.
Nice person.
In one frame, there were many, many photos tucked, many of our daughter Olivia. Pictures of him with our baby daughter. And more pictures with each of my kids from my first marriage. The role Michael loved the most was father, even when that role had “step” in front of it.
And then I found the journal Michael started writing to Olivia before she was even born, but after an ultrasound determined who it was we’d created together. I’d forgotten about it, Olivia never knew about it.
She has it now.
You know, it’s very hard to sort through things when you have to keep clearing your eyes of tears, and then having to sit down for a while because the tears become a storm and you just can’t breathe.
But I did it. Around me, people on social media, some whom I’ve never met in “real life”, encouraged and cheered.
Nice people.
Then came the finding new homes for Michael’s radios and his desk. First, someone I only knew from Facebook came out with her husband, to claim the smallest of the floor model old time radios, and also two of my mannequins. I paint mannequins, but I’d had these for years, and knew I’d never have the time to paint them. This friend and her husband arrived at the storeroom and greeted me with hugs and gifts. The wife gave me an envelope full of cards made from her photography. The husband carried a hibiscus he grew for me from a cutting, after he learned of my losing my very much loved hibiscus, Carla. He also brought me a pot of growing daffodils – he handed me spring. And my favorite flower.
The next day, another husband and wife team came for the other two radios. They came, not from my own pages on social media, but from an ad I put on Facebook Marketplace, explaining the story of the radios. The wife flung herself out of their van, hugged the stuffing out of me, and then said, “I have something for you, whether you want it or not!”, which made me laugh. A calming candle, and calming lotions and sprays. The couple left with a promise to send me a photo of the radios after they had them set up in their house.
Nice people.
And then the third, also from Facebook Marketplace. I’d posted the desk, also with the story behind it. She walked into the storeroom, laid both her hands on the desk’s surface, and said she would treasure it.
Nice person.
I can’t say that this was the hardest time since Michael died, because as every new thing pops up, it seems to be the hardest. It’s easiest, and likely more truthful, to just say it’s all been hard.
But swirling through all the hard are nice people. People who know me, people who don’t, people who knew Michael, people who didn’t.
I am alone. But I’m not.
The storeroom is almost empty now. I have to find a home for the metal conference tables that used to be in my classroom at AllWriters’. But once they’ve found their way, I will be rolling down that garage-type door for good.
Do I feel a sense of control now? In a way. The things I brought home from the storeroom are beloved. Tucked in Olivia’s bedroom closet is the cradle I found at a flea market, when I was pregnant with my first child. It was homemade, artist-made. Instead of spindles, it has solid walls of wood, other than one side, which is carved with the moon and the stars. All four of my children have slept in that cradle, and my granddaughter too. Things like this don’t get sent away…they are saved for the future generations of my family.
We didn’t put up Christmas decorations this year, but next Christmas, all of the Christmas decorations, including the tree, are now safely at home. They will be brought out easily and with joy.
On the shelves of what I called Michael’s hoarder’s closet are the photo albums, neatly lined up, even the photo album from my first wedding. There are a few bins of loose photos. All are there for my kids and granddaughter to look through when they want to dig through their own memories and see their own histories.
I feel a little more in control again, even though I know we never are. But I also feel surrounded by nice people.
And yes, that helps (enormously). Despite. Anyway.
