My clothing must have memory. I just sorted through my maternity clothes, meticulously choosing pieces for my newly pregnant friend. I came down from the attic to calm a naptime nightmare from Nori and decided to take a break and make some lunch. I suddenly found myself crying at the kitchen counter, completely confounded at the source of my emotional breakdown. After a little reflection, I realized what it was.
The crated clothing was a chronology of my pregnancy and the months that followed. There was the box of clothing I thought I would never wear because how could I possibly get that big. Then the box of things that fit for the first three months, that I remember looking at, month-four, thinking I would not be able to even get it over my head. Next was the pile of bed rest loungewear; part pajama, part perinatologist prêt a Porte. Then there was the box of things I wore for the three months after the babies were born. In the haze that accompanies a dream that one might have had days ago, I see myself in the Tampa Old Navy, purchasing maternity pants, in denial, perhaps, that I as no longer pregnant. I may have even told the check out girl that my due date was May 13. I needed clothes that would fit the Florida climate and me. Both seemed to not fit me well at all. I wore the same three pairs of pants in rotation for 96 days. It did not matter what I wore because I covered up each day in yellow pliable plastic, protecting my babies from the contamination that may come from my clothes. Now these clothes are contaminated with those memories.
I stopped myself from running back up in the attic and throwing these clothes away, maybe even setting them on fire to destroy their history. Maybe they needed a new memory. Maybe if these clothes experienced a happy pregnancy some of their sadness would be wiped away. The promise of a new life from my friend is a reason to spring clean, to start a fresh and to reassign the sad things to a different place.
Nori is going to CHOP next week to have her PDA valve repaired. (This could also be a trigger for my weeping state!) According to the cardiologist, this is a routine same-day surgery. Being in a hospital with Nori is not a routine that I would like to get into again.
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1 comment:
I think giving your clothes to your friend is a brave gesture. I have to also say that burning them would also be a good way to turn the page. It's very symbolic to destroy something, and it is not a bad thing at all. It doesn't have to be your clothes, it can be anything. When grieving, we often feel guilty about moving on and turning the page, we don't want to forget. But it's ok and it's a healthy thing to do. Turning the page doesn't mean forgetting, it just means moving on without always looking back. If we keep looking back we often miss what's in front of us, and what's in front of us is what matters most. So look ahead, keep your head high and marvel at all that you have and at what's to come.
ps: hope you don't mind my putting my two cents in...should I say my two centime's since I am in France ;-)
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