It’s not a new thing for me to give away old clothes.  I often, ok maybe every few years, will stuff a bag or a box full of old things I don’t wear anymore and drop them off at a second-hand shop or a women’s shelter.  It is not usually very difficult.  I don’t really like the stuff anymore and that is why it goes.

This box of clothes is different.  It is filled with clothes that belonged to my mom.  Things she wore.  Things that touched her and absorbed her warmth.  Things that protected her from the chill and the rain.  She has been gone for a little over a year and these clothes at first sat in my dresser or in my closet.  I wore some of them and plan to keep a couple of things but the truth is they don’t fit me and so keeping them is keeping them away from someone who might really use them.  Her scent is gone from them.  They now smell like anything thing else in my house.  Looking at them doesn’t bring her back.  She doesn’t magically fill them up and talk to me when I hold them up.  Why then is it so hard to put them in the car and take them away?

I think of the two women we heard about in church this past Sunday.  One is ready to prepare her last meal for herself and her son when the Lord asks her to share with Elijah.  Knowing it is all the food she has left she chooses to trust the Lord.  He does not disappoint as her flour and oil replenish until the drought ends giving her, her son, and Elijah enough food to survive.  The other women gives all she has to the church.  Just two small coins.  They gave it all and I am merely struggling with giving from my surplus.  It helps to put my dilemma into perspective.  I am not even close to giving all that I have.  It isn’t even all that I have left of my mom, just her clothes.  Which she has no need for because she is now clothed in God’s love for all eternity.

It is difficult to part with things, because it hurts.  It’s not the things I will miss it’s the memories they conjure up.  It puts lump in my chest and bring tears to the corners of my eyes to even think about giving her things away.  However it is November and Thanksgiving is approaching.  I spent almost 40 Thanksgivings with my mom and this will be the second one that I can’t spend with her.  We always shared what we were grateful for at the Thanksgiving table.  I clearly remember that last Thanksgiving I spent with her.  We thought her cancer was in remission and with tears in our eyes and big smiles on our lips we all said how grateful we were to be there together.  Not knowing for sure it was our last but knowing that it was a possibility that it would be the last Thanksgiving we would spend together.  In this world of violence, division, and lack of love I am grateful that I grew up in a family where love for me was plenty!  I am going to take a deep breath and have my husband take this box to a local women’s shelter where these clothes can give a little bit of dignity and love to women in need.  Even though it hurts my mom would be grateful to be a part of this gift.