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The Closet

by Darrell G. Yardley

Looking Westward

As we reach our 60's, if we are introspective and maturing personally and spiritually in our lives, we begin to reflect back on choices and situations of our past. The Closet is one such reflection. In our 60's, if not before, our gaze turns westward as we start coming to terms with our own mortality.

There is a growing need at this age to make peace with the past. Perhaps we have some regrets for things that happen, some joys, some sadness, but, if we are lucky, no anger or pain. Old stuff needs to be put away. Closure is wanted.

This year, my 60th, I began having dreams and recurring memories and flashbacks of one such event/situation in my own past. At first I tried to ignore it, but it kept calling to me, growing ever persistent.

It has been my experience that when something keeps coming back to me like this and out of the blue, I am being asked to pay attention.

After many months of trying to ignore it, I gave into its calling. The wonders of the Internet enabled me to look up a person of long ago and make contact. I had no idea as to why this felt so strongly in me and would not go away.

I realized that it was 40 years ago this year that we were married. Maybe this is also part of the reason these memories were coming up now. It would have been our 40th wedding anniversary this year.

Background

When I was 20 years old, I had been married for about a year-and-half to a woman (girl) with which I had gone to high school. Ironically, as best I can remember, I did not know her in high school except maybe to pass her in the hall. I don't think we ever spoke that I can remember.

Our journey together began when we met at the University of Texas at Austin where we were both undergraduates. I majoring in zoology, her in psychology. It was in the audio library where I had become fond of studying and listening to the wide range of music that was available there.

She had forgotten her student ID card as I walked up to check out a pair of headphones. I offered to let her check out a set on my card provided she give me her name and telephone number. This is when she rather caustically informed me that I did know her and that we went to high school together. (Not a good start, right?)

Contact

Through the Internet and with some resourcefulness, I managed to locate her and get an email address and business number. I was pretty sure of the city and state, so that helped a lot. Plus, I knew her married name from our high school graduation class updates.

As I read the info available on the Internet from her website, I was amused at how similar many of things in our lives had turned out. I also felt a sense of pride in what she had made of her life. We were both Episcopalians, very active in our churches. We were both grandparents, happily married for many years, liberal Democrats, and more. I worked a lot with adolescents and teens. She was a family lawyer that also worked a lot with children and teens.

I was delighted when she replied to my inquiry email. We exchanged several emails filling each other in on our lives.

One night toward the end of our brief exchange, I awoke with this metaphor graphically pictured in my head. I labeled it, "The Dark Closet," in my journal.

The Dark Closet

Many years ago there was a young man who had gone through something that had been very painful for him. When he was able, he had taken off the clothing of that time for it was covered with pain and bad memories. He hung them away in a dark closet and locked the door.

Many year went by. He married, had children, and grandchildren. For such a long time he was able to ignore that the closet even existed. Occasionally he would pass by the locked, closed door and glance at it.

As the years started adding up, and he grew older, the closet started calling out to him. Sometimes he would go, stand in front of it, and just stare, then walk away. He was still afraid of what was in the closet. He was afraid of the old clothes and the darkness.

As more years passed, the closet's call became even stronger. It started disturbing his dreams and thoughts. One day as he was passing by the closet, he tentatively reached out and touched the door knob. He tried to turn it. It was locked. A sigh of relief went through him. Thankfully, he had lost the key. He wasn't sure he really wanted to open it anyway after all these years.

One day he was cleaning his house, a bunch of old stuff he never touched. Old stuff it was time to let go and throw away. There, among an old stack of pictures, was the key. His hand shook as he reached down and picked it up. He turned it over and over in his hand. Not knowing what to do with it, but now realizing he did not want to loose it again, he put it in his pocket.

For several days he carried it around, occasionally reaching down to feel it to make sure it was still there. His desire to open the dark closet grew even stronger now that he had the key.

Finally, late one night he could stand it no longer. His curiosity overcame his fear. With unsteady hand he inserted the key into the lock and turned. The door came open. His heart beat rapidly. Sweat broke out on his forehead. His legs felt weak.

But then as he slowly opened the long sealed door, there came a light. He had expected darkness, but through the cracked door, came dazzling sunlight. He threw the door open. Where had been a dark, scary closet was a beautiful sunny room. Sunlight danced on the floor. Beautiful flowers and plants filled the room. He walked in amazed. Where had his closet gone? He stepped into the room filled with beautiful flowers and sunlight.

As he walked up to one exquisitely beautiful, dark red flower, a feeling of sadness and peace came to him, as did a very painful memory from their wedding night. Another flower, hauntingly dark purple with steaks of black, also elicited sad-peace feelings but from their honeymoon as such it was. There was another of a stolen kiss late one night by a close friend. The darker the color, the more painful the memory had been. The pain was now gone, however. He came across several too that had no memories. There was still the sadness-peace there but the hurts were unknown to him. He called all these flowers forgiveness flowers.

There were other beautiful flowers but these with happy memories. Many sensuous ones. Bright, joyous, dancing. Their coloring was less intense, but they had wonderful smells of various intensity that matched their happy memories.

In the corner still hung his old clothes, but now they were just old clothes and no longer fit him.

Now the closet door stays open. He feels at peace in the flower room. It is a place, especially in the mornings, where he can go, drink his coffee, journal, and reflect...

Post-Script

In our last correspondence, I sent her an earlier version of this metaphor, but to date have not heard back from her.

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Dr. Y "Thinks" Index

Christ--who was he?
Strange Piece of Ass Syndrome
Christian heresies
Baby boomers are dancing on... e
A Wild Ride
Dannion Brinkley
Circumcision
Why Vision Quest?
Vision Quest 1998
Enlightenment on a Harley
God, faith and the Recession
Breakfast Blessing
The Closet
God as my GPS
God as my GPS
Descartes and Christianity
Health Care Reform and Christianity

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