For one last time before anyone arrived I sat in there thinking back to when he was just a toddler. He was the only baby I knew whose clothes were just as pristine when I took them off as when I put them on him. Totally unlike his little sister, Tiffany. I would dress her, stand her in the middle of the room, and dirt would begin to crawl up her legs and jump off onto her clothing. She wouldn't have to do anything it seemed to end up with stained clothes. I could never pass her clothing on but Christian's would still look like brand new.
And so his life began. Being a single mom with five children, there wasn't much money to go around. From the time he was in elementary school, Christian's clothing allowance always, and I mean always, went to buying name-brand clothes even when it meant he had less than anyone else in the family. Some might say he was overly occupied with his appearance and they would probably be right. All I know is that is who he was from the time of being a young boy to the end of his life.
I remember when he started working and could finally buy exactly what he wanted. I would go to visit him and he would proudly show me his latest acquisition. He was rarely content with just a shirt and pants. He had to have the shirt, pants, sweater, tie, and socks. Shoes and belts were carefully coordinated. For him this was a work of art - the color combinations, the composition, the texture, the balance.
That also carried over into the furnishings in his house. He and Kristen carefully selected each and every item in their home. And no expense was too much.
So all that information boils down to this. Kristen and I talked. During the last two years of Christian's life, he was so plagued by severe depression that he was unable to work and consequently was over burdened with debt. As a result he was unable to leave anything in the way of financial benefit to his two sons, Brandon and Benton.
All he had was a house full of furnishings and closets (more than one, more than two) and drawers full of designer clothing (Armani, Kenneth Cole, GUCCI, etc.) - several still bearing the price tags. So the decision was reached that his things would be sold and the resulting funds would go into some type of interest-bearing accounts for the boys.
Yesterday two huge u-hauls were filled with all the things from the storage unit and part went to Kristen's storage unit in north Seattle and part went into our guest house. That 850 square foot house is filled on both floors floor to ceiling. Those things will be gone through, sorted, and sold later.
As my heart broke, I watched as his clothing and personal affects were gone through and removed from his room. Even though the end result will be rewarding, I felt as though his room had been plundered and I had been robbed. Not robbed of "things" but robbed of memories. Robbed of his most cherished possessions. Things he had an emotional attachment to. Things he had personally chosen to keep close to him. And things I could touch. Clothing I could envision him wearing with such pride. My goodness! how that hurt.... and still hurts.
Will the removal of his things help in the healing process? Only time will tell. But right now, at this very moment all I know is that it hurts so deeply. I feel as though I have lost him all over again and it hurts like hell.
No comments:
Post a Comment