The Sorting

Cherry

By hudsonmoon

Fri, 08 Apr 2016
  • 2376 reads
10 comments
 

The Sorting

It started with his baseball shirt. It was still on its hanger in the laundry room. On laundry days I'd pause, then lay my hand on a shoulder, burying my nose in the collar, hoping for some sign of life. It pained me to pack it away.

He’d worn the shirt to games at Yankee stadium. He and his best buds. Bleacher seat bums. Drinking beer and having a laugh. He’d worn his cap, as well. It still hangs atop the coat tree. It’s where he had left it.

We'll keep it for a time.

There were other things of his in that room. Assorted clothes, clean and folded, ready to be put away in their proper place in his dresser.

Those I've packed away for keeps.

Then there’s the t-shirts. He had so many. Blazoned with band names, craft beers, catch-phrases of the day. Calmer Than You Are was a favorite of mine. And he was.

These will be used to make a brilliant memory quilt. We found a place that will do it up proper.
It's too painful a job for his mom, who is quite handy at the craft of quilting.

My job is the sorting.

It takes forever to let go.

I’m in no hurry.

 

Certificate U
Non-fiction
Autobiography

Comments

Submitted by jolono on

Love the idea of a memory quilt Rich. I think the last line sums this up perfectly. No rush, no hurry, just take you're time...

 

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

I've never heard of a memory quilt, but also think it's wonderful. The simple structure of this makes it even sadder. Such a hard thing to do.

 

Submitted by fidud on

poignant beautiful writing. I love the simplicity of its style, it really suits the mood. You think that death should bring high-fallutin emotions and words but actually it is the simple things...you have captured this beautifully and sensitively. x

Submitted by Bee on

Each of those T shirts can be photographed and transferred onto cotton to make that quilt Rich. Then you can keep the shirts, too. 

Sorry, maybe that is what you are going to do...

Bee

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

I don't know that we ever really finish sorting, Rich...nor letting go...

Just the thought of that memory quilt...so very beautiful.

Tina 

 

Submitted by VeraClark on

One moment after a moment. There can be no time frame. Agony conveyed fairly casually, it's your style to do that.

 

Submitted by hudsonmoon on

Many thanks for all the lovely comments. As hard as I've actally tried to write about the loss of a son, I was never able to do it in a way that I thought I would. Soon after his death I'd been gifted with more that a couple of journals. I managed to write one short entry in a few months time. I wasn't able to do it. And then, when I'd least expect it, the words would come. Mostly in the form of a poem or song. I thought I was the one who'd be in charge. But there seems to be another force that controls these things. And when it comes I've learned to be prepared. It really helps the healing. Thanks, again. Cheers.

Rich xx 

 

Submitted by london_calling79 on

So beautifully sad. Each piece of the quilt is a memory of a life well lived and a testament to its loss. Expressed with wonderful clarity.

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Hi Richard, you know Tina is right, we never let go of the memory of loosing a special loved one. I only wish I'd thougth of a memory quilt myself when I lost my parents, though I'm sure it's not the same as loosing your son which must be devastating.

I hope the quilt turns out perfect for you and your wife, then  you can look back with fond memories.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by celticman on

babies learn by smell, I guess we remember that atavistic urge and it takes us back and forward and rocks us on the way.