They took your shoes. The garbage crew just came and threw your converse in. The red, white, black, grey high tops and low with the heel of your feet – dug holes into them – the miles you walked – strutted, worked out, dance in them… the traces of you left in the sweat stains and worn soles – of your worn soul. I put them in the bag we used to use to change over the apt in the city when we had a turnover of people staying there. White square plaid with broken zipper… I put them in there, along with your underwear that was falling apart, the underwear used at the hospital, in our bed, clean comforting, then soiled and onto the next. They are gone as well… You did say you were thinking of giving all your clothes away…
And I did it… I”ve started honey, Started to let go of what no longer serves you.
I’m wearing one of your pajama tops from Australia, You might have worn it when you were in the hospital, thought dead, done for… Abandoned by your family… now I know. Now I know the anger and why… a brother too caught up in his own spinning to deal with anything deemed too much… too much pain… too much mess… get it over with ignore it…
We didn’t ignore it when we finally had to face it… And we wanted none of the unneeded fake happiness, cheerfulness of “unknowing”…
I must start my day, Which started 2 hours ago..
I miss you my dear. My honey.
I wish…(I know, I know, I mustn’t wish) you would walk through the front door after going to the gym, converse tied to your bag, key’s jingling and a Hello to baby love, daddy… and somewhere Sugar, with the ultimate. “I’m home” shouted to the upstairs – where I work. Anticipating your return.
P.s. I’m barefoot – oh and it’s an Orange day….