A million questions run through my head each day; questions that even the almighty Google search can’t answer: What do I do with my dead aunt’s lingerie? What words can I say to soothe my mother? What urn would my aunt have liked most – the one with the butterflies or the one with the flowers? I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.
Nothing matters anymore. Work. Bills. Instagram. Eating. It is all hilariously irrelevant right now. I think back to quitting my job; it all felt so big and meaningful not so long ago.
Right now all that matters is finding my aunt’s goddamn wedding dress so her husband can wrap it up in a plastic bag to take with him to the hospital, clutching it to his chest as he hands it to a nameless nurse, so that the only woman he has ever loved can be cremated wearing it. So he can always remember her the way she was that day – a bright-eyed, barefoot, beautiful bride.
I gingerly make my way through her closet, overflowing and packed to the brim with a life-time of garments she refused to throw away. I am angry now. I begin to tear my way through her stupid clothes. Faster and faster, knocking things off hangers and throwing them onto the bed. And finally, there it is. One strap off the hanger, it hangs mockingly behind an army of sweaters (none of which I ever remember her wearing).
As I hand the lost dress to my uncle, his face momentarily lights up with joy, before settling back into the look I’ve become familiar with over the last few days: complete and utter mind fuck.