Folding Clothes

Typically folding laundry is a chore that I loathe.  It's not necessarily a bad thing if it means that I'm parked on the couch with several baskets of clothes to fold and I can reclaim control of the DVR.  It is a bit daunting when you know you have to fold it and then put it all away.  Quite honestly, it's just easier if it sits in the baskets and you can get what you need when you need it.  Easier doesn't mean better.  Especially if you battle with OCD.

Sunday I did a different type of clothes folding.  These clothes were not being folded and put into baskets, they were being folded and put into bags to donate to folks who need them.

These clothes were Granddad's.

There were carefully sorted stacks of clothing across the guest room bed.  Shirts.  Sweaters.  Pants.  Suits.  Coats.  Ties.  Hats.  Gloves.  These items took up residence here about two weeks ago.  They were placed on the bed and then the door was shut.

My mother and I walked in together, looked at the bed realizing these were the last of the clothes to go, and cried.  Yes, they are clothes.  But, they were his clothes and bagging them up seemed to signify that we were ready to part with them.  With him.  I assure you, we're not.  But, what good are they doing sitting on the bed?

I started on the first stack.  Unfolded a piece, studied it just a bit and then refolded it with care.  I racked my brain over and over again trying to recall a memory associated with each piece.  With many pieces I envisioned Granddad wearing that sweater to a birthday or some other function.  It was hard to part with that memory.  With a physical piece of the memory.

What should have taken 10 minutes took a hour.  Every piece was unfolded, refolded and placed in the bag.  I took a couple pieces for myself...just a few I couldn't part with. ...and that was it.  Granddad's clothes wound up in black trash bags and put in a trunk.

I am sure they will find an owner who appreciates them for an entirely different reason than we do.  Because they need them.  They have nothing else.

I find comfort in that...and I wonder if I will ever see one of the homeless at The Haven wearing a coat or sweater of Granddad's.