Letting go, one shoe at a time
Reminders of what I loved, of what I’ve lost—and what I still need to keep dusting.
One of the unenviable tasks after losing a spouse is figuring out what to do with their clothing. I’ve heard stories in grief support groups about widows and widowers handling this in all sorts of ways—some wait years to part with their loved one’s clothes, while others clean out closets within weeks of the death. Like all aspects of grief, there’s no right or wrong way to approach it.
For the first few months after Jody’s passing, her closet became a time capsule. Shoes exactly where she left them. Sweaters, tops, yoga pants—untouched, undisturbed by me. Then one morning, I went into our shared closet to pick out my clothes for the day, and for the first time, I noticed something that took me by surprise: her shoes and boots were covered with dust.
Living in Arizona, where we get only five inches of rain a year, dust is part of daily life. But this… this felt different. The sight of dust on her things hit me hard, like a slap. It felt wrong, even disrespectful, to let her clothes and shoes sit there neglected. This was something she would never allow, and something I couldn’t allow either.
I quickly grabbed a couple of dusting cloths, and sat on the closet floor. Lovingly, almost reverently, I began to dust off each shoe, one by one. To my surprise, the grief hit me like a wave. Soul-shaking sobs came from deep within, and I cried deeply as I sat there, wiping away the dust.
In that moment, I realized it was time to begin letting go of her clothes. But I couldn’t say the words “get rid of.” That was too impersonal and cold. Moving her clothes along, passing them to others who could use them, felt like the right way to say it as well as the right thing to do—after all, they were still perfectly good clothes. I started with the easier items, clothes she rarely wore, things I had no memory of her in. A few months later, I moved on to some of her other things, even the ones that held memories. But I knew deep down that someone else should have them.
Yet, the closet is not empty.
Some things I can’t let go of, not yet, maybe never. And I’ve decided that’s okay. Like pictures, handwritten notes, or certain pieces of decor, they’re reminders of what I loved, of what I’ve lost—and what I still need to keep dusting.
About Paul
If you've navigated the complexities of love, loss, or life's unpredictable twists and turns, this blog is for you. Paul, who was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease in 2022 and lost his beloved Jody in 2024, is also a father, new grandfather and a speaker/writer. Paul writes to make sense of the world around him, sharing his personal journey through grief, Parkinson’s, and life's challenges. With a mix of lightheartedness, thoughtfulness, and unwavering authenticity, Paul offers a relatable and heartfelt perspective on the human experience. His writing is often described as warm, genuine and deeply moving.
Paul, I just now got around to reading this. Wow, you are talented and passionate author.
Your stories of Jody’s great turkey adventures had me laughing convulosively. BLESS HER HEART!
Paul, I am so proud of you. I have come to regard you as the brother I lost to aids many years ago. Let’s please make arrangements to get together for coffee or lunch soon. There’s so much of my talents and passions I’d love to share with you