Today I went through Emily’s clothes.

Immediately after Emily’s earthly departure, her husband bagged everything up and put it in storage, unable to deal with the process of going through everything at that point.

Then he called today and asked if I wanted to come pick up her things. I said yes.

Upon arriving back at home, I began slowly untying each garbage bag full of her clothes, looking inside to see items so familiar, still full of her scent. Each item with it’s own story. The air-brushed t-shirt she and her husband bought at the fair last year. Her favorite warm-ups that she just about wore out. The fluorescent colored socks that she used to wear, mismatched–I don’t think there were two of the same color. The skinny, before-baby clothes. Shoes.

It hurts pretty bad. I mean, it hurts REAL bad.

I really only have ONE comfort: that I KNOW I will see her again. That’s my main, overriding comfort.

And there are other, smaller comforts, such as knowing that the last couple of years of her life were mostly very happy. And knowing that she is happy and healed and free at this very moment and every moment to come.

And of course, there is her baby. That sweet baby who has such a hold on my heart.

The discarded clothes are leftovers of a life left too soon. They have no value except for the memories they evoke of their owner, a blond-haired blue-eyed beauty with a happy countenance and a gentle spirit.

She left the clothes, and she left the body, which was essentially her earth-clothes.

No matter what age I live to, I’ll be seeing her real soon.