Finding Comfort in a Pillow

July 17th and I’m standing in a room where exactly 2 weeks ago, my fiancé, Chase, had opened his beautiful sea green eyes to the morning for the last time.  He had gotten dressed, took off his engagement ring, picked up his headphones and went to do yard work before he and I went shopping for the 4th of July party at his grandparents the next day.  That morning he collapsed of an enlarged heart at the age of 25 and was gone by the time I got to the hospital, in fact, gone before I got the call from his dad, even gone before his sweet mom found him. I spent the night in that room, giving into the pleas of family that I not be alone. I did not sleep, but cried as I looked through his things: our pre-marriage book we were in the middle of, the pictures of us he kept by his bed, his bible, and his clothes. Lying in his bed, my own eyes watched the morning light come through the blinds, seeing a new day dawn and knowing it was my first of many mornings without him.

Flash back to the 17th and the room is barely recognizable. Chase’s older brother, aunt, mom and I had gone through his room, sorting trash from treasure. Items and keepsakes had been set aside for the memorial and then after divided up between myself, his siblings, parents and friends. His wonderful parents saw me as his wife, even though we never made it down the aisle and I was humbled when I was told I had first claim. On this day, I had nearly finished my task of removing the items I wished to keep from a room that now was clean and tidy…of which Chase really wasn’t. The one thing that remained was the hardest part for me: his clothes. The silly tee shirts, his Ranger camp shirts, dress shirts…all an expression of the man I love with all my heart and soul. And the scent of him that lingered. I always loved wearing his shirts, so I steeled myself and took home some items of clothing, including several tee shirts and button up shirts, all of which I could see myself wearing. All save one: a red dress shirt. I grabbed this one because I loved the way he looked in it, it brought out the green in his eyes, the darkness of his hair, the color of his skin. I was never going to wear it, but couldn’t think of anyone else wearing it either, it was Chase’s shirt.

Not long after, my sister in law (the wife of his older brother), sent me a link to a website for a certain project. A crafty mom had created pillows for the kids out of their dad’s shirts. While, thankfully, the dad was still alive, Liz thought the idea might be a good one. I have another friend, Gloria, who lost her father last year and had a quilt made of his shirts. That’s a cool thought, though I wasn’t ready to give up my wearable shirts, but the pillow was perfect. And I had just the shirt for the project.

Dates have a funny way of connecting with each other. For example, the day his family and I scattered some of his ashes was 5 years to the day that he and I sat down and introduced ourselves at a lunch put on for ushers at the church we both served at. It was also 2 years on that date that he woke up from his jaw surgery realizing that his crush on me had moved to true love. It was the same connection that led to my mother and I sitting at her dining room table 3 months from the day Chase passed away with a sewing machine, a pillow form and his red shirt. That morning was hard; taking the shirt out and laying it on the bed, remembering all the times he wore it. Smoothing out the creases, thinking that I never wore this shirt, it was just him. He still lingered in the threads.

I am not good at sewing, I cross stitch. But I was determined to be a part of this project. I marked lines, cut the sleeves off (which I wore as gauntlets, because you gotta have fun) and got the thread tangled several times trying to use the machine. But the end result was perfect.

Chase was many things; kind, loyal, hardworking, respectful, fun, silly, very humble, eager to help anyone, a true man of God. He was also a teddy bear. He gave the best hugs; my mom has said she was envious that I got more hugs than her because she loved them so much. Chase loved to cuddle and snuggle in. So holding this pillow in my arms, hugging it and feeling not the material of a pillowcase under my hands and cheek but of his red shirt…it’s a bigger comfort than I could have ever imagined. Sundays mornings are hard because I wake up mourning that we never got to be married and wake up together on Sunday’s, drive to church, serve as lead ushers and then spend the rest of the evening together, preparing for the work week to come. Our relationship is wrapped up in that church. It's where we met, became friends, served together, fell in love, and even became a couple outside its doors. It's where we going to get married. Sunday's are hard. That Sunday though, it wasn’t as bad. Because even though I didn’t open my eyes to see him lying beside me, there was that pillow.

Dear ones, the loss of someone who means so much to us is breathtaking. It's a nightmare you can't wake up from, no matter how hard you pinch yourself. A pain no one can prepare for and until they’ve been through such a heartbreaking and devastating loss, too, it’s a nightmare no one can understand. Some find it works better for them to lock away anything that reminds them of the precious one they've lost. Out of sight, out of mind. But for others, like myself, we find comfort in these things. Memories of your time together, things that made them smile or happy or had special meaning. Pictures; a large picture of Chase smiling is hanging on my wall across from my bed, I wake up every morning and go to bed every night with the image of that carefree and happy smile. I carry his backpack, wear his ring on a chain around my neck, and keep his name badge with mine at church. And now I have this pillow. If only I could justify caring it around with me everywhere. I enjoy seeing it on my bed, so unique from the other pillows I have. It is a reminder of the unique and special person in my life who once owed that shirt, who still holds my heart. Until I can hold my darling in my arms, I can hold this pillow.

Grief is exhausting in so many ways, including being physically draining. While you don’t want to curl into a ball and ignore the world, you do need to give into the grief. I cry every single day, sometimes I cry myself to sleep or scream myself hoarse. Taking comfort in healthy ways during these times allows you to stop and breathe. So, if able, why not curl up under a quilt? Or rest your head on a pillow.