The Black Dress and the Water Bottle: Ongoing Connections
There’s nothing more symbolic of a funeral than black clothing. The problem is, black is the color of lots and lots of other clothing. Black goes with everything! Because my husband died suddenly in the middle of a February night, I had no time to carefully choose or shop for a new black outfit for the funeral. Two of my girlfriends came over the day before the funeral and told me they would help me choose what to wear. It was easy; other than moral support, I really didn’t need much help. I chose a very basic, wear-with-everything-all-year, black dress. It’s one of my favorite dresses. I wore it frequently to work, and sometimes I still wear it on special occasions. Whenever I need to get dressed quickly without much thought about how to put the outfit together, I pull this dress out and throw it on. It’s a great dress that fits well and is comfortable. I knew both of those qualities would be necessary on the day of the funeral. It worked. Once the funeral was over, I rehung the dress in my closet.
Several weeks later, I was in a hurry one morning, and was getting dressed for work. Without thinking, I reached for my favorite black dress. As I pulled it on, I gave a cursory thought to the fact that it was the dress I wore to Tim’s funeral. For one split second, I thought, “Gee, I should find something else to wear. This dress might make me sad as I go through the day, and Lord knows I don’t need to be sad while trying to work.” But there really wasn’t time for that, and besides, I simply like the dress. So, I wore it. I’ve worn it several times, always with that split-second catch of my breath as I realize and remember. But I’m just too practical to store the dress away as a memorial. And I remember that my husband was the King of Practicality, and it makes me feel better.
Now, contrast that with the water bottle sitting on the bedside table on my husband’s side of the bed. The bottle has been there, untouched, since the early morning of February 16, 2018. Tim must’ve taken about four or five sips from that bottle before going to bed. An hour later, he sat up straight in bed, stricken with a massive heart attack that killed him instantly. I cannot bring myself to throw the bottle away. I may be practical, but I also recognize the comfort that familiar, simple things bring. My husband left this earth suddenly, without warning. I believe that water bottle is the last thing he touched. It is not going anywhere, at least for now.
And I’m pretty sure my practical husband would find it enormously funny that I’ve saved a half bottle of water for six years.
In my book, Grab Life by the Bungees and 50+ Other Ways to Find Humor, Hope, and Happiness After Your Partner Has Died, I ask the reader, “What lives on for you?” In other words, what is it about your late partner that continues to influence you, to bring a smile? Sometimes, the simplest things bring good memories to life again. Just like the water bottle, I’ve saved things that might make no sense to anyone else. Lucy Hone calls these types of tangible items “ongoing connections,” (p. 197) which help the bereaved feel closer to the departed.
Thus, if you’re a woman whose partner died (a WWPD), save whatever you want to save, if it makes you feel better. Eventually, you may let it go, but maybe now is not the time. As Lucy Hone said, “… confronting these things has not seemed a good use of my energy so far. And for now, they provide a degree of comfort …” (p. 197).
I agree. Use your energy for things that matter.
When our granddaughter Charlotte was a year old, I used a photo imaging service to have a beach towel made, with an image of Tim and Charlotte printed on the towel. I gave it to Tim for Father’s Day that year. He didn’t live to see another Father’s Day. I still have this towel and cannot bear to part with it. In fact, when Charlotte and her sister Abby visit and take a bath, it sits nearby. If one of the girls gets soap in her eyes, she yells, “I need the Pap-Pap towel!” and uses it to wipe the tears from her eyes.
I can’t think of a better “ongoing connection.”
Reference
Hone, L. (2017). Resilient grieving: Finding strength and embracing life after a loss that changes everything. New York: The Experiment.
