My closet tells me lies...

      Each morning, when I walk into our closet, it speaks to me...shows me Kimmy's shoes, tucked into her shoe holder...and baskets beneath the clothes.  Her bathrobes stand ready, to dry and warm her.

Our closet's in denial

-"Tell me where am I supposed to go?

 Who am I supposed to believe?

If you only knew what I knew.

Then you could see just what I see."

  Each pair of pants, neatly on a pant hangar, and shirts/blouses/dress clothes, add a burst of color to the dim closet.
      Up on the top shelf, her wedding gown, neatly boxed up and waiting for the day Autumn walks down the aisle...Our album collection...her purses, each one holding treasures and trinkets of Kim's life...the cowgirl boots I bought her to match the ones I wore for our wedding...

And our closet is delusional...

- "So I grab my bags and go, as far away as I can go.

Because everything ain't what I used to know.

And I try to hide, but I just can't hide no more.

There's nothing worse than feeling like a ghost."

      The closet doesn't know Kim's gone...it keeps everything ready, expecting her to need a pretty blouse or some dress shoes for her busy day.  Waiting for her to choose the purse that fit her outfit and her mood that morning...
      She loved shoes.  I jokingly called her Imelda Marcos, wife of a former Filipino president, who had around 2,700 pairs of shoes.  Kim's collection was barely over 2,000, so I guess it was unfair of me to make such a comparison.  Each pair, a conquest of sorts, as Kimmy would hunt and search for the best values, never paying much for a nice pair of shoes. 
      Her Pumas...she cried when I gave them to her...she wore them everyday until the end, but never had a chance to walk much in them...I love the Carlos Santana flip flops she found at Ross, they are so pretty and made her feet look great.  She promised them to Autumn 'when I grow out of them'. 

                                      Sometimes, I think the closet is just plain obstinate.

-"you say I look fine, if you only knew what's on my mind.

You'd see a whole different sign, I couldn't show you even if I tried.

I must have gotten lost in time..."

           Kimmy actually bought two pair of the Carlos Santana flippies, she loved them so much and wanted to make sure she had an extra pair...just in case! The shoes are there...waiting patiently, gathering dust...but hopeful.  Above the shoes...a collection of belts...tasteful, stylish, Kimmy...Heaven around her waist.

         And this dress...my absolute favorite...Kim made my heart stop every time I saw her, but this put me into immediate cardiac arrest every time!!  This was a great beach dress, when Kimmy was so tan...
          Our closet, doorway to the past...
          - "Some say I'm out of sight, how I run and we're all so blind.
             If you could open up your eyes, you could see what I couldn't describe.
             Then you'd see the signs, then your soul would be set free, and then you would be released."
        The wooden hangars...over the years, Kim would buy some wooden hangars on sale here, pick some up at a yard sale there, until our closet was consumed by them.  She hated plastic ones.  Being short, she'd sometimes go to grab a shirt on the top bar too quickly, snapping the plastic hangar.  She hated when that happened.  If she hated plastic hangars, then she despised wire ones.  'They lose their shape almost immediately and give my clothes quasimodo shoulders!'.  Quasimodo.  Shoulders.  She killed me. And, if I slipped one back in the closet - she'd pull her best Joan Crawford on me 'NO MORE WIRE HANGARS!!' she'd screech, cracking me up every time.
         Kim's party box, nestled undereath the bottom rack of her blouses, mostly obscured from sight...trailing streamer, giving it away.  She had a different banner for everyone's birthday...gift bags (mostly recycled, but not for regifting!), balloons, tissue paper, assorted wrapping paper and sometimes, a stray card or two...always ready to celebrate.

Her whimsical AC DC tote bag hangs off the back of the closet door - waiting to be packed for a picnic or the beach or some other fabulous road trip...and her Singer sewing machine waits, and waits...Autumn pulled it out one day, excited to sew a patch on her jeans "Mama showed me how to use it!" she exclaimed.  I was excited too, but, alas, neither of us knew how to load the thread...

-"Tell me where am I supposed to go?

 Who am I supposed to believe?

If you only knew what I knew.

Then you could see."

        I try to tell the closet - but it's no use.  It fools me every day.  You might think I'd be mad at the closet for its lies.  Or shy away from it - maybe get my clothes from somewhere else, but no...it's nostalgic.  I imagine I can still catch Kimmy's scent and see her selecting her clothes for her day...always so thoughtful. 
        I knew a guy once, who told me he had created a prayer sanctuary in his closet.  Each morning and evening, he would go in his closet, kneel down and pray...I've thought about that over the years...I guess this is as close to that as it comes.  It is almost a comfort to see Kimmy's stuff (and at the end of the day, that is all it is- 'stuff')...like a stray ray of sunshine...
        -"There's nothing worse than feeling like a ghost..."
        How many times a day do you go into your closet?  I figure I got into ours at least three times a day, more if I'm lucky.  The closet tells me lies...but they are sweet lies...

          Love,
                   Dave