This weekend was bittersweet. While a smashing success at the event, it validated the start to a real end of my David’s short life. Everything went perfectly, fun was had by all, we raised a ton of cash, and I could not be more content and grateful for all the contributions and help from everybody.
But alas, all things come to an end. The houselights came on, the brooms came out, and it marked the beginning of the clean-up in more than one way. As I drove over to the Ainsworth on Sunday morning, I had this sense of heaviness in the reality of all that has happened. We just raised a bunch of money in honor of my brother—my brother who is no longer with me. This event was really an official milestone that this is, in fact, real.
I’ve mentioned this in previous posts, but the hardest damn part of this whole thing is knowing that the “credits” have rolled for the experiences I will have with David. It is solidified by each clean-up I am required to take. Tyler (our cousin) and I went over to David’s apartment following the Ainsworth (carrying a giant headshot of David, which gave us a ton of problems when trying to get it in the car). Tyler is pretty much the exact same build as David. It is uncanny. David’s clothing collection is about as awesome as it gets. I didn’t want to give it to Goodwill, but his size was very specific. So Tyler and I agreed that after the event, we would go over and start cleaning our closets and see what fit him, what fit me, and then create piles for each of us.
We cracked the Jameson, took out some rocks glasses, poured a healthy serving for each of us, and began removing and trying on each item one by one.
We shared several laughs as there was some really interesting purchases in his fashion life. For me, however, each item tried on was a tiny paper-cut slicing at my core. Like the closet picture above, we were making progress and getting what needed to be done. But it was also the proverbial nails-in-the-literal-coffin with each hanger removed.
In the end, it was mostly empty closets. Bags were filled, some which will go home with me, some which will go home with Tyler, some to Goodwill, and some straight to the landfill. The apartment will slowly morph from David’s apartment to just a NY Apartment, and the walls will forget the little guy who used to call it his home. His closets will just be closets, not David’s closets, and life will inevitably go on.
Tyler and I will wear the stuff that fits with pride. But in the end, it was one of the first deeply-cutting realizations that this thing that has happened is real. It hurts, more deeply than I could have ever imagined. It is in my joints, the most painful arthritis. It is my heart like chronic cardiac arrest. It’s in my brain, persistent swelling.
