I wrote this some time ago...
My father passed away on Feb.2, 2004. I stayed with my Mother for a week following his death. Mother and I went through Daddy's clothes that week. I felt guilty going through his pockets. I said to him, "I'm sorry for going through your pockets." Right away, he answered. "I'm sorry for leaving you with such a mess to go through." I went through his pockets in peace then, enjoying his scent and the little tidbits of memories that I pulled from his pockets. To this day, I don't feel like I could go through his clothes again.
Love and shock can get you through just about anything.
1 comment:
When my dad died, I also had to go through his pockets. In his wallet I found a faded photograph of my mother. She was sitting on a rock at the seashore, with the waves crashing behind her. I turned over the photo and saw his note - "Jane, Montauk Point, 1955". I held it next to a framed picture of my husband, John. The photos were identical, and both taken at Montauk Point Beach, about 36 years apart. I still get chills when I think about it. I never knew he had that picture in his wallet all those years.
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