Sorting

I am going through ML clothes.

I want to do it--I think she would want me to do it.

I arrive--I feel funny, strange, detached.

I start sorting. 

I run across things that have stories attached to them. 

I found myself thinking selfish thoughts  --

" I want that, I know the story, others do not."

Then I stop- 

Be fair, I think.  This is not about you

Then I run into things I have not been asked to sort.

" Ohh, I would love to have that because it reminds of something we did together."

Do I take it now or wait?.....

Now I feel like a vulture. Circling, picking out it's prey.

I go back and finish sorting. 

There are piles. 

Piles for us, piles for Jules, piles  for Hubby's brother.

And finally piles for the Hospice Thrift shop.

That pile is the hardest. 

It contains Christmas sweaters that she wore that don't fit anyone. 

It contains beautiful outfits that she wore and only she could pull off. 

I put the piles in the cars. 

The hospice ones go in the back. 

Those are the ones we will never see again.

Just like we won't see ML again.

I sit in the car  and cry.

She isn't coming back. She doesn't need her clothes.

She is really gone.