A Tie That Binds: Picking Out Burial Clothes for My Husband

I remember when it was the first year without my husband. 
How can it be four years since he passed through this life? 

How did I move through that time, those days after the early morning of his passing? Then I couldn't have written about those times. Now I find the words come to the surface and seem to want to be seen and heard. 

I still get a lump in my throat and tears that form deep inside. I've not found it easy to cry since we parted. I don't know why.

For me, it's taken this long and going through the total change that happens when the cycle of your living/dying experience has moved past a point that only each individual life marks. For me, it was his death, Mom's death and the death of our long time family pet, our cat. 

That was my personal "death sequence"-- time of beginning, different perspective, moving into another phase of life -- a change as significant as night into day.

With my husband's death, I went through a few of his things while our sons were in town for the funeral and gave them "memories" to cherish. 

I admit, I haven't totally cleaned out "his" closet today . Some clothes still hang where they were placed, some by him and some by me as I moved them and chose a few to "give away" to those in need and keep others both daughter and I were too "attached" to as memories of times spent together.

For me, because he traveled as much as he did, it was simply like those times. I knew and I know, he's not coming back, there is no return, and that's not why the clothes still hang. I, we, are going through our transitioning in so many areas, making our way through bare bones survival, seeing a little bit of light, finding a few "pieces of sunshine and starlight" along the way. It's a long, challenging process. We're still on that journey.

His ties. How I loved to find a "new" tie for him. He wore one almost every day for business. A new tie was our way of "stretching" clothing as we stretched so many other things to provide other opportunities for our family. 

I went through the vast number we'd accumulated and memories flowed. Special events, times of new beginnings, even those times of sorrow for others who passed, came to mind when looking at each one.

I pulled this one and that. Taking them down, holding them up and out, passing my hand across the fabric, feeling where a knot was tied here, a hand may have smoothed there. 

A connection that was ending with each hour that passed; a separation beginning to feel like a chasm opening and swallowing me and everything around. 

I moved from one task to another, I tried to remain organized and focused. 

It was like moving through jello. A familiar feeling I would live with for many months to come.

I remember picking out the clothes my husband would wear for his final journey.

That was difficult and yet I remember doing it as I would have for him at other times.

A labor of love. One of the last familiar labors.

For most of our married life, he traveled for the work he did. I was "used to" his leaving and being gone an entire week and sometimes over a weekend.

I often helped him pack making sure the things he liked to wear were clean and ready to go. Making sure the "little things" he needed in his "Dop Kit" (don't know, think that goes back to a military reference; he was in the Air Force) were full: shaving cream, razor and blades, deodorant, combs, nail kit, cologne, etc.

Those were the days "on the road". He didn't stay in "nice" hotels that provided these items; chains then didn't set out anything more than a bar of soap. Not the type our sons stay in where they get to rack up points and reap the rewards. 

Besides, when it's your business, you cut corners and make do and find ways to stretch because the bottom line is, what you spend,you don't have to pay yourself, to provide for shelter, food and all life's possibilities that come when you have a family to consider.

It was also somewhat cathartic, going through his clothes, it reminded me of the many times we went "shopping" and, again, of the closeness we had, the sharing and the caring.

Not a suit, I decided. Yes, he had a few and he'd worn them more recently, primarily for funerals, or very important business meetings. No, I decided on a sportcoat and jacket, one I knew he chose to wear often . . . and a special tie. 

Although I didn't realize it then, I didn't want to have my last sight of him, before we said our final farewell face to face, before we stood and watched as my husband, their father, was permanently removed from our sight, from being there for us, to be in clothing that reminded me of a funeral, I preferred to remember him as I'd known him in life when he was so vibrant and so much a part of life.

And casual but still "business" pants, a belt, socks, shoes and even underwear. 

Funny, we know how we dress each day but when you gather together the items of that ritual it seems strange to put together these items, some more intimate, more basic, with those that speak to the world about who we are, how we see ourselves.

A tie was definitely needed. But which one?  His Rotary tie?  

I wanted the funeral to be on Monday, he passed on a Wednesday. 

I wanted it to be at Noon. 

We were married at Noon.  The Rotary met at Noon each Monday.

My husband was a Rotary President. He believed deeply in their motto, "Service Above Self". It was a part of our lives long before he joined the organization.

My eye goes to a tie I hated to part with but realized it was the only "perfect" tie. The tie that truly bound us together. A symbol of great memories, challenging times and of our life together: a tie I'd found by chance, much more expensive than I'd ever spent and only bought when returning to the store I found it on a "clearance sale" and knew it was there, at that time and so was I. And it was. My husband loved the tie. He wore it often. I'd given it to him for his birthday. Now it would follow him as his birthday celebrations came to an end.

It was a beautiful, elegant, old world drawing elegantly showcasing the world and various international symbols. Describing it makes it sound "busy" but it wasn't. The colors were more muted and everyone who saw it complimented him on its uniqueness. Like him. Like our life together.

It was the perfect choice -- although I often wish I had it with me, could touch it, could see it and could feel his closeness through it once again. 

No. It was the right choice. He often wore it with the sport coat and pants I'd chosen, so it was truly the perfect choice for me to make to send with him on this final journey. And so I packed it.

In the inside pocket of his sport coat jacket there was a piece of paper, regular size like a letter is written on. I placed it in his outside pocket.

It was a registration form for a special community training program. Sometimes he had a habit of placing those in his outside pocket and so I did this for him. He was always looking to share the opportunities he was given and this was one his health had interrupted and he never was able to complete.

Did I mention I can think about these actions and my thoughts at the time better now than I could then? I moved through everything, all the planning and all the rituals seeing and hearing but somehow as though I was the coat on the body and not the person inside. 

I walked, talked, did what was needed and tried to do what should be done but somehow "I" was apart from everything being done.

My husband. My life. Met in college and dated for four years. 
Spent forty two years together in marriage. 
Moved down and over the rocky roads and smooth sailing times, always together.

Yes, as the bells tolled and we drove up to the front of the church, we were about to walk down an aisle that was shorter but longer than the one we walked down at our wedding.

You went before me instead of beside me. Friends and family carried you, standing in front and beside you. Honorary and actual, your sons, your friends, people who held special places in your life, now walked with you on this final journey escorting and sharing the responsibility of walking together as they walked in life, beside you and with you along your journeys.

This Noon ceremony would be memorable, would be meaningful but would also be the beginning of our separation, the first in a very long time.

The only certainty we faced together was not knowing how long a separation lay before us and that's no different than when we walked down the aisle so many years before, side by side, leaving the church to begin our lives together, this life we now celebrate and honor.

Today, four years later, I know:

Each life journey begins and what we see as the end may often be another beginning.