This past week I decided to clean out my closet. My decision was months overdue and was prompted by my desire to stop tripping on tubs of winter clothing sitting on my closet floor waiting to be hung up in hopes that cooler weather would soon appear.
One reason I have neglected this task is the emotional component I knew would be involved.
Over the past couple of years, (just before beginning our journey with infertility treatments) I embarked on a weight loss journey for myself as well as posterity’s sake. In the course of time, I have passed milestones, losing a little over 40 lbs to date. This obviously has necessitated new clothing, which I’ve purchased sparingly, waiting until I reach my final goal before I completely restore my wardrobe to its former glory.
Each time I dropped a size I slowly purged the contents of my closet, reserving a few, very specific pieces “just in case.” Now this was not the “just in case I need them again because my other clothes are tight” kind of hesitation. It was prompted out of hope, anticipation, that this month, any month could be “the month” and I would soon need those items again because my waistline was expanding with our long awaited child.
Sadly, our journey has not come to that end as of yet, so all I had hanging in my closet were a bunch of clothes that would once again go unworn and constantly remind me of what we have could have been. Each pair of pants a reminder of where we’ve gone. Shirts unwilling souvenirs of treatments and procedures, memories gained and subsequently lost.
As I cleaned I encountered a gamut of emotions. Grief swelled as I packed away the shirt I wore the Monday I was given the shot to end our first pregnancy out of medical necessity. Sadness grew as I relived the memories of the weekend that preceded; the first sonogram in its emptiness, Christmas parties where no one knew of our secret joy turned to disappointment and church members delivering their babies that very weekend. Despair took over as I recalled procedures that were revealing in nature, yet seemingly ineffective in their efforts. Even a tinged happiness surfaced in my efforts as I folded garments worn the day I discovered that we were expecting our first child. Bittersweet were the tears that came as I relived so many memories.
And as much as it pained me to do it, this cleaning was necessary.
I’ll honestly admit that I still have hang-ups where babies are concerned. There are days that I still cannot bring myself to attend showers or be around newborns. I still miss our babies terribly; I’m not sure that feeling will ever go away.
I’ve too often wallowed in self pity, alienating myself as well as others. I’ve built walls between God and man, all in the name of protection, willing my sufferings to disappear. I’ve lost some faith, wondering if I will ever see God’s promises come to fruition.
Yet I still hope.
And that is why I cleaned my closet. In hope that one day I will be able to hold my babies, declaring God’s glory, knowing that until that happens I must go on, that I can’t allow my pain to impede forward progress.
Choosing to let go of those items was (and still is) a big step for me, one that I will not soon forget. I will long have the memories that are attached to those articles of clothing but their presence in my home no longer stares me in the face, haunting me on a daily basis. I had to let go of those items; they had become my security, my tie to what could have been, and the past is never a place to live. Almost two years later it’s certainly time to move on. So I will.
Healing is a process; sometimes daily, sometimes hourly, and sometimes involving a closet full of memories. For now, I choose to let go literally and figuratively. With God’s help, I choose to walk unfettered, unhindered, and free from the baggage that mars my path, even if they are only clothes.
