2 With Spirit

I guess it was about a month after Rick’s funeral, it occurred to me nobody had said anything about the clothes Rick had been wearing that night. (oh my god, his clothes- where were they?) Rick -his body had- he was just so broken, I knew his clothes must be in bad condition. Still they’re too personal to be floating around or disposed of by some stranger.

A string of phone calls began with the Police Department, who referred me to the morgue, who referred me to the Tarrant County Medical Examiner, who directed me to the funeral home. "Yes, Mr. Owens clothes are still here. We keep the deceased’s clothing for a few months, then contact the family for instructions as to hold for a family member to pick-up or request disposal." (ok, breathe)

An over-sized white paper sack. The name of the funeral home stamped on one side and Richard Owens handwritten across the top. The man was saying something to me as he handed me the sack but I couldn’t hear him over the buzzing in my ears. Everything suddenly felt too real. Rick was dead.

I remember being surprised at the feel of plastic wrapped around the clothes inside the sack. Lately my mind had began a routine of immediately shifting into reasoning mode to distract me from unpleasant matters. The plastic must have been to keep the paper sack from absorbing/showing blood. OK, that makes sense. Clutching the sack to my chest, I said thank you and hurried for the exit, desperate for air outside the funeral home. I didn’t look inside the sack, nothing in there I wanted to see.

Back at home, I sat the bag down just inside the front door. Unsure what to do with it and for some twisted reason needing to feel it near by. That’s where it stayed for weeks as I came and went from the house. Every now and then a visiting friend might glance at it, but the side stamped with the name of the funeral home was against the wall so nobody knew what it was or asked questions….just another sack amidst the chaos of packing a house to move.

Weeks later, a friend asked for a ride to run errands. Later on my way home, I started thinking about Rex, the sack still sitting by the front door…. what if Rex caught Rick’s scent on the sack, he might tear into it looking for Rick. He hadn’t bothered it in all the time it was there. But I couldn’t shake the feeling today would be different.

Rex was a stray Siberian husky that Rick had rescued from the streets. The two of them were inseparable. Rex still ran to the door when he heard a vehicle that sounded like Rick’s. He would sit there, patiently staring down the street, waiting for Rick to pull in the driveway to take him for a ride. My heart broke for him over and over again- I didn’t know how to explain Rick wasn’t coming home again.

his clothes- too personal for others to see….

My stomach was flipping upside down by the time I pulled in the driveway. Home had no electricity, so no lights. I wouldn’t be able to see anything until I lit a candle and the candles were all the way across the living room….. OK, the sack is white so I should be able to see the outline in the dark. ….will be bigger than it was if it’s been torn open. (please don’t let it be bigger). So cold, wet – my hands were freezing. several jabs before I hit the hole with the key. I looked down as I pushed the door open….the sack was 3 times bigger than it had been. (sick to my stomach, angry that I was so careless. ashamed for not taking better care of something so personal, so private…oh god Rick, I’m so sorry)

…raining all day, what if Rex had pulled Rick’s clothes out of the sack….what if he dragged them outside….mud, rain….neighbors…

It was pitch black inside the house. I hesitated- hoping my eyes would adjust to the dark. Candles were 6′ feet away, and right then, 6′ looked like a thousand across the living room. Unable to see, no idea where the clothes might be, and not wanting to step on them, I kneeled to the floor. My fingers crept across the carpet inch by inch, as I made my way across the room. Part of me hoping to feel the clothes inside and safe from the rain and mud.

I envisioned them scattered in the back yard muddy and wet, and felt sick to my stomach. Finally, a candle. I looked around at the shadows dancing on the walls through the flame and turned around. Startled, I snapped my mouth shut to cut off a scream.

In the middle of the living room floor, Rick’s clothes were barely visible under Rex laying on top of them. I never even knew Rex was in the room, but there he was, nose buried in the folds of Rick’s shirt, questioning eyes looking up at me. Part of me hoped Rex would never move….didn’t want to see what he was lying on. I pulled on a corner of something- shirt, jeans-  Rex didn’t move so I tugged a little harder. He tightened his paws, pinning the clothes to the floor. I let go and sat full down on the floor beside him. We sat there for a long time. Both of us wishing the other would say the magic words and un-shatter our lives.

Tiny pieces of broken windshield glass covered the floor. Rick’s jeans were still damp with blood, both front pockets cut open. Holes n the legs where his bones ripped through the denim. His tank top, Old Navy, we bought matching ones on vacation the first year we were together, cut at both shoulders. Pavement rubbed holes through the front of his shirt, the back was stiff with blood. (why wasn’t I upset? shouldn’t I be hysterical or crying or something?) Yet there I was, perfectly calm. As bad as the clothes were- and they were bad- to me they were just Rick’s clothes.