Cleaning House

I haven't cleaned out any of Lou's things yet. I like having his closet full of his clothes. It makes me feel less alone in our room. It's less empty. Sometimes, I just look at all his clothes, touch the sleeves of his suits, and bury my head in the shirts that still smell of his cologne. Eventually, I'll probably find homes for some of his clothes. But some will probably stay there, in the closet. Keeping me company. I haven't really gotten rid of much, yet. I did get rid of a file box hiding in our room that had bank statements in it from 1988, no attachment to those. The medications...that's another one. I still have all of Lou's pills lined up in the cabinet where we kept them. And there are alot of pills. Don't ask me why we still have them, I don't know why. I could use the shelf space. Everyone knows I am not a neat nik. So the fact that I have not yet gotten rid of anything of Lou's probably doesn't surprise anyone. The thing is, LOU was the pack rat in our household! Hence the bank statements from 1988. Now I'M the designated pack rat it seems. Well, today I did get rid of something of Lou's. I stumbled upon a Walgreens bag in the pantry that I thought was empty. It wasn't. It contained three of Lou's medications, dated August 24, 2006. Seven days before Lou died. The medications were liquid and dissolveable forms of a few of his pills. At that point, we were having problems getting his pills down. I was desperate to keep him taking some of his medications, thinking, somehow, he'd feel better, start eating and drinking more, and ultimately, get better to a certain degree. When you are deep in the dark waters of impending death, you don't realize it. You think things like, well, this is just a bad day. Or, if only he would eat, he'd be doing better. Or what about a certain piece of music, wouldn't that perk him up? Inevitably, at that point, August 24, none of the usual tricks worked. Those medications were never opened. Never used. We weren't even able to get the liquid meds in him. I emptied them down the sink, and threw out the dissolveable pills. Throwing those out felt good. Because I was mad, mad that he was never able to take them. Mad that they were dated August 24. Mad that August 31 was just around the corner. Maybe I should give this house cleaning thing a try after all. But not the closet. Not the closet, for a long time.