Sorting Through Love, Loss and Socks
Lisa M. Fagan
It started with the socks. Which, naturally, led to the t-shirts. Then the shorts. You know how that goes.
Yes—I made the decision to reorganize the space Eddie and I once shared. Drawer by drawer, then inching into the closet. Was I ready? Not really. There's a kind of guilt that surfaces when you touch what's still sacred. But after Eddie’s kids said they'd like some of his things, I knew it was time. I gathered what belonged to him—his clothes, his memorabilia—and placed it all in one space, easy to get to.
I wasn’t emotionally ready, but a big part of me wanted to clear the "business" side of grief so I could move forward. Not move on—just forward.
As I sifted through his things, I was reminded of how wonderfully minimal Eddie was.
No clutter. No chaos.
Just hundreds of photos of his kids, a few from past relationships, finish-line snapshots from his runs, and high school and college keepsakes. Everything in its place. So much so, I kept apologizing every time I knocked something over—like I’d disrupted his sacred Feng shui.
No surprises. Just Eddie—exactly as I knew him.
Death Grief & Clutter
I’ve never feared death, and when Eddie passed, I found myself even more at peace with it. I believe I’ll be with him again. But death also has a way of nudging your practical side. It reminded me that I need to get my own affairs in order—so when my son is grieving, he won’t also be wading through the logistical weight of my life.
Grief rearranges your thoughts. It makes you rethink what you thought you understood. It makes you see different sides of people - the good, bad and ugly. Eddie didn’t have a lot, and that was one of the things I loved about him. He grew up with little, so what he earned, he worked hard for it and truly appreciated it. We shared a beautiful home, but most of his money went where it mattered—child support, school fees, doctor visits, college costs, and all the invisible expenses that come with loving your kids fiercely.
He didn’t leave behind abundance. He left enough. Enough for his children to start the next chapter, and the wisdom to earn what they want from there. He left me a portion of his retirement and a lifetime of stories. And that’s more than enough.
Clearing out Eddie’s side of the closet gave me a moment to face my own clutter. It’s wild how much we accumulate—and how little of it feels necessary when you’re trying to breathe again. (I won’t even talk about the clothes that don’t fit anymore.)
One drawer led to the next room. One shelf led to a mental unburdening. Turns out, reorganizing a closet can reorganize your whole spirit.
I feel lighter. Clearer. Like I made space for something new to grow.
And whenever that day comes, and my son is going through my things, I hope he sees a little of what I saw in Eddie—organization, thoughtfulness, love folded into each choice. I’ve made sure he’ll have enough to begin his own story, and the freedom to shape it however he wants.
Death is dark. Grief is exhausting. But they’re also clarifying.
And sometimes, in the quiet of sorting socks and stories, you start to see the beauty in the things you used to overlook.
If you're grieving and need support, here are resources I found that offer grief and loss support - mentalhealthhotline.org, The Maven Clinic, and grief.com.
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