Yes, a new quilt will fit me like a T

Racing T-shirts. If there was ever a staple in My Favourite Husband's wardrobe, it was his drag racing T-shirts. Paired with sweatpants, it was a look that, while not high fashion, was solid and dependable. Comfortable. Honestly, during the last years of his life when dialysis and drives with me around the city were his social life, he didn’t require any other clothes. 

He died in August 2021. I held on to every piece of clothing he owned. Tightly, fiercely. Until January. There was a bitterly cold stretch that month (and, honestly, every January here) and I had a closet full of warm winter coats in larger men’s sizes. I decided it would be wrong to keep them when there were so many homeless people who could bundle up in their warmth. I made the decision to donate them and, before I could change my mind, packed them into two large, black garbage bags and drove to an inner-city shelter. 

When I came back home, I paused to reflect on how I felt. I was a bit melancholy but, mostly, I felt good the coats he no longer needed could be used by someone else. 

I’d like to say it inspired me to pack up and donate all of his wardrobe but it did not. I greedily hung onto each piece, hoping he’d need it if he came back again. The rational part of my brain knew better but, since there was no rush, I left things the way they’d been for years, hanging in his closet and in the drawers of his dresser. 

Spring came. Almost a year after he died. I had lost a lot of weight and decided that I needed to donate some of my clothes. And, because it was time, the rest of his. 

I won’t lie. I needed to take big, deep breaths to get through this task. My heart sisters offered help but my stubborn ass insisted this was a task for me. While I was ripping off the Band-Aid, it was going to be slow. And packing it up was going to be painful. I’d cry. I did cry. Lots. And packing up his wardrobe made a year of progress pause as feelings tumbled down and I needed to pause and feel them all. 

I kept a few things. A pair of his boxers that I’d wear to be saucy (and when I ran out of my underwear). His favourite sports coat, a deep plum one. A pair of heavy wool socks. I bagged up the rest and determinedly set in it the kitchen to be carried out to my vehicle. 

But then came the drag racing T-shirts. Those damn T-shirts. 

The ones of his favourite racers made me smile and, truthfully, didn’t hurt quite that bad. The ones that punched my gut were the ones he bought at our favourite drag race to attend: the California Hot Rod Reunion (CHRR) in Bakersfield, Calif., every October. I picked up different meet T-shirts and memories washed over me. Being a drag racer himself, MFH had always hoped to make the haul to California and race that event. We never did. 

But we attended as spectators. Knew people from our city who raced in it. Got together with them in California. We joked we had made “ass grooves” in the bleachers at the 1,000-foot mark from the days and years we watched the action on the quarter mile. Oh, Famoso Raceway, I know you well. 

Those T-shirts. Those memories. 

I couldn’t and I wouldn’t part with them. No matter how many other souvenirs I had, those T-shirts were staying. 

They did. They have. Packed away for a few years now. I haven’t looked at them or worn them. I haven’t donated them. I’ve left them in limbo. 

I don’t care. They are mine. 

A recent storage decluttering, though, has unearthed those treasures. And though I am not sure I’m ready to give them away quite yet, I think it’s foolish to repack them and not look at them for another few years.

And so I reached out on social media to see if anyone could make me a quilt. The more I thought about it, the more I think a quilt — especially of the CHRR event T-shirts — would balance my need to not let go and to perhaps donate the other racing shirts.

A mutual friend has made such memory quilts. She sent me photos of her work and they are beautiful. I’ve sat on the idea for a few days now and, the more it settles, the more I find peace in the idea. Whether I hang in up in my rec room with pictures of the race cars he’s owned over the years (and his helmet and “Wally,” a trophy from a National Event win, or use it to snuggle up in, I think I can’t go wrong. 

Sometimes letting things go needs to be creative. For me, at least. I think it’s time for this step forward.