I awoke on the day of my husband's funeral with a burning need to clean out my pantry. Or a drawer, something/anything. I could recognize why- my desperate need to control something, to bring something back into order in my totally out of order life, to fill places that were feeling empty, to still what feels like violent chaos.
Mostly I have ended up shuffling stacks of papers and moving things around and back and then back again. I couldn't bear his empty drawers, so I moved my nightclothes into them. But then it felt like I was crowding him out. But then I didn't want them to be empty. Back and forth. Seeing his empty closet was so horrible that I just threw things in there as quick as I could. Then I put that stuff back and moved my summer clothes there, to rest against his wedding suit.
Papers are everywhere. A list of people I need to write thank you notes to, and lists of things that need to be dealt with by phone or mail or in person, and the stack of things that can't be settled until we get the death certificate. I got out file folders, I got out manila envelopes. And in the end I just keep stuffing it all in a bag. The gift bag of death.
I did have success though with the pantry last week. I chose the pantry because I really thought it would be the safest place in the house- strictly my domain. But every jar and can was an ingredient to something he loved. Our sturdy larder was a testimony to his wonderful provision for his family and his love of feeling that we had things "put by" in the face of some impending crisis. It was bittersweet and tender and it felt good to bring it under submission. It is a still life of us.
And now, two weeks into this, I am coming to terms with chaos, with things that don't make sense and are out of place, with empty drawers and gaping closets. When I start to feel a vertigo attack from it all, I just run to the pantry.
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