Open Closet...

Whenever I go home--home to my parents' or home to my Godparents'--I have a certain ritual I end up doing. I am not home very often these days so I always end up walking around taking in all the changes that might have taken place between visits. (some, including my mother, might call it snooping.) New wall colors, different pillows, a table moved, the latest magazine or book on a nightstand...

and the newest clothes in her closet.

Thursday, after the service I found myself upstairs using the bathroom next to the master bedroom. Once in the hallway, I knew I had to go in. It is what I always did...check out the latest beauty products she was using or to see if she'd bought any new clothes or shoes I needed to borrow. I stepped in to the master bedroom like I always did, carefully making sure everyone was decent (I could hear her voice calling out to Dick...) and then heading to the back of the room and into the closet. Of course, no one was there this time.

The room held everything and nothing all at once.

As I made my way to the closet I was overwhelmed by the memories and conversations that came to me...rushing at me in a wave so hard and fast that I could no longer breathe or hold in my tears.

There wasn't a time I was in town, or a week (ok, a day) when I lived with them, that I wasn't borrowing some article of clothing or accessory from her closet. Whenever someone complimented me on a pair of shoes or a jacket or sweater...I'd fess up, "It's Carole's."

I had a few key pieces of hers that I liked to wear...the rest was just fun to try on. In all honesty, she wore much more color and pattern than I was comfortable in. She was also more hip than I...especially as I began to have kids and my clothes became spit rags more than actual items of clothing. She was always trying to get me to try a t-shirt with rhinestones or a v-neck that "went too far" in my estimation. (Both of these observations say more about my conservative style than her taste in clothes.) She had matching outfits--coordinated and finished off with jewelry. Over and over she'd say I looked good or jump up from her computer to find something she thought would work better. She'd put secretaries on hold or tell a colleague she'd call them back. She approached finding me the right outfit as if she had nothing else to do with her day.

Again, words are failing me. Picking out clothes was not our whole relationship...

A friend of mine, upon hearing of her death, wrote to me. In love, he wondered what on earth I would wear now...

Right now, grief and denial still fit very well. But I hope in my lifetime I can wear life with half her grace and style; passion and fight. I will wear her focus on self care and health. I will put on her optimism and delight. I hope her ability to put the best spin on a person or situation, fits me one day. I will walk steadily in her love and her pride in who I am. Her closet was full and I am so thankful I was a part of it.