Crisis of Identity
Chapter 41

On any given day I look forward to visiting mum. I look forward to seeing her smile, feeling her loving warmth and being able to chat with her about anything. Knowing she is safe and well is an added bonus.

But not today. Today I pull into mum’s driveway with a sense of apprehension and rising anxiety. Georgie would’ve been great moral support, but I declined her kind offer to assist. Cleaning out my dad’s possessions will be upsetting and difficult, so I’d rather work through it myself, without any distractions. She understood.

Several moments beat by as I sat staring at the front door, working up the courage to go in. Deep down, I know I’m not ready for this, but if it means mum doesn’t have to put herself through it, then I need to step up. Time to put my game face on—for mum.

After a deep breath I made my way to the front door. ‘Just me, Mum,’ I yelled down the hallway upon entering.

‘Back here…’ mum replied.

Mum was in the kitchen making a coffee when I entered. ‘Hi Mum… How ya doin’…?’ I said doing my best to sound upbeat.

‘Hi darling… Have you eaten? Would you like me to make you something for lunch?’

‘No, I’m good thanks… I had a couple of ham and cheese toasties before I came around.’

‘Would you like a coffee…? I’m having one.’

Maybe a strong hit of caffeine will be what I need. Certainly can’t hurt. ‘I would, actually. I’ll get it, though. You have a seat and enjoy yours, while it’s hot.’

Whether by design or by chance, taking the time to sit and chat with mum over a coffee helped calm me down. Problem was, it only delayed the unenviable task ahead.

‘I appreciate you doing this for me, Kade. I really do,’ mum said, holding her mug with both hands. ‘I know it will be hard for you, too… But I can’t do it. I’ve tried a couple of times, but it is too upsetting.’

The pain in mum’s face when she talks about dad’s things is upsetting to see. It must be hard enough coping every day with losing her life partner, but to now have to pack up all the things he owned, all the things he wore, the things that were his personality, brings the hurt of losing him flooding back.

It is an unpleasant reminder to the finality that dad is no longer here and he ain’t coming back.

‘That’s OK, Mum. I’ll have a crack at it. We’ll get it done.’

‘Thank you so much. Promise me though, you’ll stop if it becomes too overwhelming for you.’

‘Promise.’

Knowing what awaits me at the top made the trudge upstairs all the more tedious. My legs were so heavy, each tread felt like I was carrying an extra twenty-five kilos.

Mum led the way to her walk-in-wardrobe. She slid open the cavity door, flicked on the light then disappeared into the over-sized wardrobe.

The task at hand was so intimidating, I stood at the doorway looking in, as though waiting for permission to enter.

Having never had cause to venture into my parents’ walk in robe before, this was foreign to me. The wardrobe was huge, about the size of a large bedroom. Eight down-lights lit up the room like day.

A two-metre long, rectangular ottoman, dissected the middle of the room. Timber cabinetry consisting of open boxed shelving over chests of drawers and double hanging space lined each side of the room, as a mirror-image of the other side.

Across the end, a chair sat at a dressing table in front of an over-sized mirror.

On either side of the dresser were rows of shoes, stored in separate compartments, like vintage wines in a rack, stretching up from the floor to the wardrobe’s top shelf.

‘This is your dad’s side…’ mum said, indicating the left side of the room. ‘This is my side…’

‘How do you want me to do this?’ I asked, as my eyes scanned over the neatly folded jumpers and windcheaters in the open shelving and the rows of business shirts, jackets and suits.

‘I would like it all to go, darling…’ mum said. ‘Unless there is anything you want to keep for yourself.’

‘No…’ I firmly shook my head. ‘No. Dad was taller and thicker built than me, anyway…’

Mum placed a hand on my shoulder. ‘Thank you for doing this, darling. I’ll get some large garbage bags for you,’ she said then left the room.

While waiting for mum I started with dad’s jumpers and windcheaters, piling them up on the ottoman. At first, I moved without thinking too much about what I was doing.

Before long, reality set in. This is everything that was my dad. This is everything he wore. This was his personality. As weird as it sounds, I can actually smell my dad on his clothes.

With every piece of dad’s clothing I removed, I felt a piece of my heart going with it. My eyes started misting. By the time I started on his t-shirt drawer, a tear trickled every time I blinked.

Next out of the drawer was dad’s favourite navy blue Nike t-shirt. He wore the shit out it and it’s still in pretty good condition. So many memories of dad in this shirt flooded back, like home movies in my mind. This was my breaking point. Tears flowed freely as I regarded dad’s fave t-shirt in my hand.

When mum returned with the plastic garbage bin liners, she noticed my waterworks. She placed a comforting hand on my cheek and wiped a tear. ‘I know this is hard for you, darling. I’m sorry you have to do this… But I do appreciate you helping.’

‘I’m OK…’ I said trying to cover up my inner hurt. ‘It’s just that… some items are harder than others to pack away,’ I said. I held up the Nike t-shirt.

‘Your dad loved that t-shirt, didn’t he?’ She asked rhetorically.

I nodded in response, mainly to hide my pain.

‘When you can…’ mum placed a hand on my cheek. ‘Place everything in the plastic garbage bags and we’ll take them to the Salvos.’

Again I responded with a silent nod.

‘I’m sorry. But I can’t stay here while you do this,’ mum said. She disappeared out of the bedroom.

With a deep breath for strength, I buried the t-shirt inside the large black garbage bin liner. The rest of dad’s clothes followed shortly after.