Letting Go

When we were going through Jason's things, I was grateful that I got to hang on to one of his shirts. It's not one I have a particular memory of, but I can still smell him on it. I don't want to stick it in a drawer where it will be forgotten but I'm afraid if I wear it, I won't ever smell him again. Am I crazy to think that I could possibly hold on to that? Do I just wash it and move on and keep his memory around me as I wear it? I don't know why I'm having such a hard time with this but everytime I look at it, I'm paralyzed.

In some ways, I feel like I'm just beginning to realize the finality of it all. There's a certain amount of time that you can convince yourself that he's just on a really long vacation. Work is busy enough and I make a point to keep away from his desk and old photos. But then I come home and there's his shirt, begging me to consider which part of him I will hold on to...the smell or the sense of being close to him when wearing it. It's funny what things really strike you in grief. I wish the choice would be made for me. There's something really unnerving about being an active part of that process. It starts to take away the sense that you are a victim in all this and that you are participating in the tragedy.