A Time to Keep, A Time to Give Away
On what’s typically considered the most important day in a young woman’s life, I stood in my long white dress, terrified about the vow I was about to take. Then, he walked into the room and took my breath away.Proudly smiling and looking incredibly handsome in his new navy blue suit, the first man I ever loved, the man who loved me long before I was born, engulfed me in his usual bear hug and asked, “Honey, are you ready?”
“I’m scared, Dad,” was all I could utter, suddenly having second thoughts.
Weaving my arm through his, he interlocked our fingers just like when I was young and afraid, then led me to the doors of the church. As we readied ourselves to walk in, he kissed my cheek and reassured, “You’re going to be just fine, but never forget, I’m always here for you.”
Throughout the years, every time he stood tall in that blue suit, which was typically reserved for religious celebrations, the feeling in my heart would be the same — pride. Each time I studied the image of this fine man, it wasn’t because of how he looked in those threads that elicited such emotion. After all, they were just a few pieces of clothing. Instead, it was what the outfit symbolized that I loved. That suit stood for everything my father embodied; grace, dignity, and sophistication as he honored the Lord. Nothing was more awe-inspiring than to see him dressed up in it with his head bowed in prayer.
When life became cruel, and my father lost the use of his legs, there were no more occasions to wear it. So, perfectly pressed and cleaned, it became sequestered to the far corner of his closet. Reminding me of my wallflower days at teen club dances, I’d find it hanging alone in the shadows, hoping someone would notice. The only difference was one day I’d find my way into the light, while the suit was destined to remain in the dark.
Years later, after his passing, it became my responsibility to clear out his belongings. I knew the experience could knock me at the back of my knees and send me tumbling, so I took on the persona of a drill sergeant. Allowing no emotion, I forced myself to methodically place things into piles; what to keep, what to give away, and what to throw away. Before long, all was gone — except for the suit. I couldn’t bring myself to part with it.
Recently, however, I had an epiphany. It was time to set it free.Like my mother, I often find myself paralyzed when tasked with giving away something that had a memory laced to it. If it was gone, I rationalized, would I forget it ever existed in the first place? But realizing, one day my life would be over too, and my children would be left with my mess to clear out, I decided it was finally time to take action.
Taking the jacket off the hanger, I wove my arms through the long sleeves, wrapped myself up like a chrysalis, and inhaled the masculine scent of his Old Spice aftershave, breathing in his essence.Quickly, tears began soaking my cheeks, but surprisingly they weren’t sad tears. By letting this beautiful suit go, I hoped that another man would one day stand proudly smiling at his daughter as she held his hand before giving her away. I was giving it a chance to be reborn.
I don’t need his suit, or any other trinket, to be reminded of how much we loved each other. I’ve hundreds of pictures to keep the vision alive. But when I miss his strength and the sound of his voice, I close my eyes and cloak myself in a warm memory that interlocks our fingers once again. A daddy and his daughter; soulfully, lovingly, and eternally intertwined.We all have too much clutter in our lives. But liberating material items into the hands of another can be a joyful experience because it creates a rebirth for a new purpose. Are there things you need to get rid of? And if so, how will you keep them still alive for you?