The tee shirts dinged me.
When I was going through his things, I kept some of John’s shirts. One of the ones he wore to the airport all the time. A new orange one we’d just gotten that he hadn’t worn much yet. A gray polo with a weird logo, but I really liked the feel of it. I snitched it every once in a while because--well that’s just how it works--the girl wears her man’s shirts. And he liked me to wear his shirts, and he can’t wear them all at the same time, so why not?
Four or five shirts. I folded them up and put my own summer shirts with them, because it was January and not the season for tees. And my shorts. They didn’t take up much space, and I tucked them into a box of not-clothes.
I distinctly recall thinking to myself “This is an odd place to put these, so I should remember exactly where they are.” That usually works for me. I also pretty clearly recall doing and saying this after I’d moved--putting them somewhere else while I was unpacking because I didn’t need summer shirts yet.
But when I wanted them, when I wanted to curl up in one of John’s shirts...
They’ve vanished.
Six months. I’m still devastated.
I open boxes I’ve already checked three times, still hoping that I overlooked them. But I know I won’t find them, because there’s so little space in this apartment, I’m using it all and have been through it all repeatedly just in the living. I’ve checked the back and the bottom of the filing cabinet and the kitchen cupboards, even though it’s ridiculous to imagine what part of me would have ever thought shirts in the filing cabinet or the kitchen made any kind of sense.
One of them was a super soft gray tee with the Penguin Park penguin on it, with the letters spelling out Northside. It had belonged to a neighbor when we lived in North Kansas City and when Leon passed, his wife brought it to John because he’d admired it several times. It was too small for John, so he gave it to me. There’s some personal connection with Penguin Park, too. I loved that shirt, and John liked to see me in it. It didn’t get much public exposure, because it was a bit too big for me and the bottom hem inched around sideways. Sloppy, which is saying something because you know my casual personal style borders on sloppy on a good day.
One of my shirts was a faded red with Snoopy on his doghouse, a thrift store impulse buy off the red, white, and blue rack in late June. No special connection. I just liked it.
Dammit...
I don’t remember my other shirts. A couple solid color basics. They’re easily replaced. Likewise the shorts.
I still have a couple of John’s winter shirts because I was wearing them at the time. I kept those only because I was dissatisfied with my winter shirts and was using his until I could find some I liked better.
But I still cry over the tee shirts.
All I can think is that it was a box of other household things I’d intended to keep that got put in the pile for the thrift store. Although I can’t think what those other things might be because I’m not missing anything else. I just must have not been paying attention when I picked that box to tuck them into, and it truly was destined for the thrift store.
I know, I wasn’t in the best headspace at the time.
Isn’t it odd, the things that go the deepest, that wouldn’t mean a thing to anyone else. Driving around is still hard. My navigator is gone. We liked to critique the new vehicle styles and admire the great colors coming out. We used to chant “green, green, green” as we went through lights, as though that would keep it from turning yellow. Silly little things like that .
Embellishments of easy companionship, now reminders of what I’ve lost.
So silly. As if life can be represented well by tee shirts. But here we are, finding our way through our seasons, from meaning to meaning. Sometimes the material is the only concrete anchor we have when the mental and emotional and spiritual moorings are torn up.
**
I’ve counted up. Since moving back to Kansas City, I’ve had at least two coffee dates per week. With my sister, whose fellowship has been bedrock in a new, unexplainable and deeper way. With a friend I gained when I married John who stepped into her own widowhood shortly after I did. She and I talk about heaven, wonder what our men are up to, and eat. Long-time friends who keep checking in, new friends at church, these wonderful ladies both keep me out of my head and give me space to muddle through my stuff.
For a couple reasons, I traded in my desktop for a laptop. This change has been both fruitful and frustrating while I entertain new habits and wheedle my writing brain. There are seven books of poetry stacked up next to my recliner which I dip into randomly of an evening; this agglomeration of words has sparked up hope and inspiration. The collection of my own new poetry totals about 75.
My best energy goes into the wholesale company. While vision for my own life is clouded, I at least have clear sight for Kevin’s dream for the season that he needs me.
So I occupy, and I wait with hope. God still is and His promises abide. This remains my underpinning. But I still feel adrift.
**
I found a tee shirt at the thrift store the other day. About the same gray, super soft, good fit. It has a little red pickup truck with hearts flowing out of the bed like loose leaves as it goes down the road. It honors the other great man in my life--my Dad who is still tinkering on his old trucks.
So silly. But I’m comforted.
Toward the promise,
Lana
The wind never stopped
That last summer
it was so hot
and we drove back and forth
back and forth
every day
to the cancer center.
It was so hot and
I had to wait outside
but it was early in the day
and the wind never stopped.
You greeted them with cheerful smiles
And they loved you
And I read my book and
summer chipped away.
We drove back and forth
back and forth
every day
And the truck bucked along the highway
Straining
we strained along
under the relentlessness
and the wind never stopped.
6-12-2022
A note to new readers
This issue is not really representative of Toward the Promise. Here’s a link to other, earlier issues, some better, some maybe not. I still intend that better resume sooner than later. Please look around in the meantime.
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It's those little things that make up our life. It's common to miss them and lose them. I've grieved over lost items and lost friends or loved ones. As we fumble through the fog and find that we are still here, we must keep going forward. Lord willing, there will be other things and people that help lift us up.
Lana, thank for sharing this loss with your readers. ❤️