His clothes still hung, on their hangers, in our closet, neatly and untouched.  Everything was in its usual place.  How could I even think of getting rid of them?  It would only leave another big void in my life.  My husband had died a year ago and it was unthinkable to part with anything that was once the  very essence of him.

He was a hard working, loving man, providing for his family, and his clothes, being modest and humble, portrayed this aspect of his life. I could picture him in every shirt that he wore on different occasions… his favorites and not so favorite ones. Each piece had a story to tell. Deep down, I fantasized that maybe this was all a dream and I would soon wake up to find him lying next to me again. So I shouldn't clear away his things, because he may need them! But this just hasn't happened, and who was I kidding, but myself.

I reasoned that it seemed so insensitive, to throw his clothes into a Salvation Army bin, where they would get mixed up with everyone else's castaways, or to donate them  to a thrift shop for people to scrutinize and pick over… then, to perhaps witness someone in our town wearing my husband's shirt!  Maybe I could just leave them in our closet forever? That would be easy, but my life has changed dramatically since his death, and I am still here, realizing that I must move on and keep living. Nothing stays the same, even though I wish it would.

Dad's flannel shirts and winter sweaters were dispersed among our four children and myself, but our son and son-in-laws were all too big and tall to fit into his pants and cotton shirts. What could I do with them? I agonized over making the right decision. What action could I take that my conscience would allow me to live with, while gaining space in our once shared closet, soon to become solely mine?  Would giving them away or tossing them out make me selfish or irreverent to his memory?

About 3AM, early one morning, an answer popped into my head. Due to my belief about death, I had come up with the perfect solution. I would make a quilt from the material in the clothing; in fact, five quilts, one for each of our children and one for myself! My belief is that, when you die, you don't ! You just change form (from body to spirit) and so it would be with his clothes. They would simply change form and be with us in a different way. This was the answer! I felt good about this idea and couldn't wait to begin the transformation!

That same day, I started: carefully cutting up his shirts and pants into the same size squares. No fancy patterns, because he was not fancy or frivolous. Each sleeve and pant leg was tenderly opened to enable me to cut the flat pieces that I needed, without a seam. I was especially careful to keep his shirt pocket in tact in one of the squares, where I would eventually tuck a laminated, heart shaped photo of each child with their dad, which also had a message on the back that stated, I'll always be with you. This would be attached to the pocket square with a gold cord, pinned to the inside, so it couldn't drop out, and from each article of clothing, I collected every button for my button box, which I inherited from my grandmother ( a beautiful frugal women ) and my children would someday inherit from me.

The colors and patterns were artfully coordinated into harmonizing groups and were sewn together with much thoughtful concern. Then, they were backed with a super soft fleece material and lightly stuffed with batting. Lastly, they were quilted with floss of a complimentary color and each priceless photo was placed in its respective pocket square. They were striking, simple and honest—an array of irreplaceable memories, with the added sense of touch!

When the quilts were finished, the children came to the house to get them. We sat around, each one eager to try out his special blanket, as we deeply pondered every square, recalling its happier past. Within a few minutes, we began to notice something unusual—an extreme warmth that oozed from them. They seemed to exude a heat that was intensely soothing to the soul, yet so much hotter than we would have imagined any quilt could possibly produce. We immediately knew that it was Dad's energy and the warmth of his love, that we felt, then, and every time since, that we've used them.

I don't mind the emptiness in the closet, as I thought I might, knowing that when I need to be hugged and comforted, I can snuggle under my precious quilt to feel cozy, safe and loved, because his clothes haven't really vanished, they are still here with me… like him, they've just changed form.

Copyright © 2002 Avis Kaeselau. All rights reserved.

Comments (1)

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written by Carrie, August 28, 2008

This is a great story. I am glad that you shared it. Thank you.