Grief for the Sale Price of 14 Dollars

This particular loss came in the form of marked down clothing. Grief had been at my elbow for months, its presence more familiar than startling by now. When we first met I’d be bowled down by it, wind sucked from my lungs, snotty sleeves curled around my breathless body. Enamored with the vision of me on my knees as the boat pulled away from the lighthouse's shore. “Goodbye my lover, never to return” I’d scream from the edge of a cliff. But as the days slipped into months, and rounded out a full year, Grief grew tired of its theatrics, casting them aside for something less dazzling, more sustainable. These days, I feel blocked but can’t choke out a sob if I want to. Literature, music, stories of humanity, anything that would have normally pricked the back of my eyes and made my throat tighten feels trite. 

I figured it would take something seismic to rattle me, a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions, but in the end it was a strappy nude sandal placed just so next to a hot pink cocktail dress. My sister-in-law had staged the photo, along with a collection of others, to sell on Poshmark. I hadn’t allowed myself to suffer this loss, in addition to the loss of my husband, but I imagine as time goes on I’ll have this moment with each member of his family. I was ready to let him go when we separated and though it was unimaginably sad, and I harbored enormous amounts of guilt, I couldn’t stay. The number one sustaining factor to the relationship had been our shared family and friends. I don’t let myself think about any of them, but thinking about the women of this family is particularly off limits. 

Fanny recently became engaged to the right person, having dabbled in being engaged to the wrong person, and Grief swelled then. Doubled in size, and then began to close in tighter and tighter, my body at the center feeling the heft of not sharing in those celebrations with her. Walls so close I could only manage a congratulatory text, leaving no room for curiosity in how it happened, and where, and was she surprised and what does she have planned? I felt so thankful to have her by my side while I navigated wedding planning, showers, and bachelorettes, it feels like reciprocity suspended to observe it all through a tiny screen.

Fanny is the sister I always wanted. I have a sister, but she’s medium at best. She’s not warm or kind. And she’s much younger than I am, so for a long time our relationship had been more like a “hey buddy” outside the liquor store than one of feminine bonding. Fanny has always existed in my mind as The Cool Older Sister, something she would humbly dismiss, but is true nevertheless. I met her when I was twelve, and she was in High School. She used to give us rides, in her car. She was smart, organized, and going places but with the occasional bad streak reserved for popular kids. She gave my loser friends and I a box of old essays to cheat with and we cherished them. Nerds corrupting other nerds is a brand I fully endorse, though at the time it felt anything but. As we grew older she would invite me to movie nights, and shopping trips, and dreaded cookie swaps. She’d center me as I flailed about hosting brunch. She made it all look effortless.

In recent years, we’d get versions of the same outfit for Christmas and I could not have been more thankful. Her fashion is impeccable. Her clothes always fit, flatter her, and have a timeless look to them. She can pull off a bold pattern and not be showy. She knows a trend before it emerges on the scene. I would often find myself at holidays wearing what she wore the year before, only to find it had become dated. So, to see that strappy nude sandal placed just so, next to a hot pink cocktail dress, well, it was too much. The elusive pin prick inspired a stream of tears as I browsed her closet on Poshmark. A pathetic sight, to say the least. 

Fanny is just one of many casualties in the divorce. It stings because our relationship felt singular, despite it being an extension of the union. I felt lonely for so long in our marriage, and before that in our partnership, that I would often barricade myself with the comfort of family and friends we orbited. Wholly ignored at family parties by my husband, Fanny would sit with me and have a glass of wine. She is the one who made sure I ate on my wedding day, seeking me out when I had drunkenly teetered away, with a plate full of food. And it was Fanny I called, when I couldn’t stay in my marriage another moment, when I just needed a pause to collect myself, who went to her brother’s house to protect him both in my absence and from me. 

The last gift she ever gave me was peace of mind, that’s who she is, and maybe why her absence feels so hard to confront. Her thoughtfulness and attention to detail helped untangle the knot I had made. Fanny helped stage my departure like she staged those shoes and made sure everyone was well loved, treated with dignity, and shown in the best light despite it being time to move on. She shephereded me along, while keeping her brother afloat, and has been a class act since. I’ve come to accept that I won’t be able to reciprocate these kindnesses, but I’m determined to pay them forward. And if you see me on Poshmark with a Groucho Marx disguise and a fake email, mind ya business.