Spring is struggling to break through in Michigan. But it’s so close, I figured it’s a good day to put some winter clothes away. While sorting through some things that I packed away last summer, I came across this dress.
My late husband, Kevin, immediately came to mind. This was one of the first things he bought me early in our blossoming relationship. I still love this dress. It wasn’t something that I would have chosen for myself, but I loved it anyway, mainly because he bought it for me. I would learn years later that receiving gifts is my primary love language. It’s not the price of the gift, it’s the fact that someone has thought of me and wanted to do something to make me happy.
It’s been three years since he passed away. I can’t wear this dress without thinking of him.
“Is that okay?” I ask myself? Is it fair to the guy that I spend a lot of time talking to these days? Will getting rid of the dress prevent the sporadic thoughts of my late husband?
Luther Vandross station on Pandora radio is playing. The O’Jays “Forever Mine” begins playing. This is Mom’s jam. Kevin, a man who loved music even more than me, loved it too. Suddenly, I can hear him singing along with Eddie and Walter. I miss hearing him sing. He was a great singer. He sang with passion and soul.
Then I envision us dancing together. He’s the first man in my adult life that I enjoyed dancing with. Our love developed, in part, on a dance floor. We used to go to the after work affair and dance like teenagers, as though one of coworkers couldn’t have been on the premises. We didn’t care. He learned that I was rhythmic in my hips and my soul. Most people don’t see that about me at first glance. He did and loved it.
It’s been three plus years (thanks to his illness) since I enjoyed dancing with a man.
Continuing the transition from winter to spring, I came across some a Kevin’s fraternity paraphernalia.
He loved his fraternity almost more than life itself. Becoming apart of Omega Psi Phi Fraternity, Inc was one of his greatest accomplishments. It inspired me join the sisterhood that I belong to. We embodied what’s called that Coleman Love.
These are the few things that I have left of his possessions that weren’t destroyed in the house fire that claimed his life. Part of me knows I should pass these items to his best friend/fraternity brother. But I’m afraid to let them go.
Over these three years, I’ve been saying I’ll give things away when I’m ready. When will that be?
I don’t know. I just don’t know…
6 thoughts on “Will I Ever Be Ready”
You’ll know you’re ready when you don’t have to ask ❤
Of course, you’re right. Sometimes it seems like so much times has passed then I realize that it hasn’t.
Grief is hard. Sending you a virtual hug.
I agree with Kegarland, you will know, and it something that doesn’t have to be rushed.
Such a touching story! I can relate in many ways. I was widowed in 2019. Keep writing, you are so good at it…and it’s therapeutic!!
Thank you. My condolences on your loss. I hope you’re getting the support you need on this journey. I host a weekly podcast with a fellow widow friend called Conversations Between Widows. Here’s the link the check it out if you’re interested https://open.spotify.com/show/7jCyKcKmuNYKj1RJLZNW5j?si=k7u-D7geRQu7gHw3BX2nNw