This week I was doing some spring cleaning. Packing up the winter clothes, and making a bag of clothes to give away. Whenever I go through my wardrobe this way, I always come across certain items that I know I should get rid of.
I never wear them. Some are old, ripped, stained, buttons are missing,
but they are drenched in too much memory to part with and
I can't bring myself to put them in the bag.
One such item is this creamy yellow shirt. I wore this shirt on my first date with my future husband. A young 17 and 18 year old, enjoying a warm spring day. We took the train into Boston and explored the Museum of Fine Arts together. It was a perfect day, filled with powerful and unspoken love and promise. Every once in a while, Brian will ask, "Hey, do you remember that pretty yellow shirt you wore on our first date?".
I continually see it in my closet. At the change of the seasons, I pick it up, touch it, smell it, and remember. I look regretfully at the give-away bag. And I carefully put it back in the closet, wedged in the back.
And I'll do it again and again.