Plastic garbage bags and totes litter my floor but they don't contain trash; they contain stories of my life, in the form of clothes.
I have ALS, otherwise known as amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, motor neuron disease, or Lou Gehrig's disease. This degenerative neuro-muscular disease destroys the motor neurons, the communication system between the brain and muscles, which renders one paralyzed and breathing compromised. There is no treatment nor cure thus ALS is 100% fatal. Since I find myself in the latter portion of the disease, a quadriplegic, confined to my bed most days, I have no practical use for much of my hard-earned wardrobe.
Finally the stars aligned where I could bear the dreaded chore, and my husband was willing to transport the dozens of 30-gallon spring green totes, full of shirts, pants, robes, career-wear, sportswear, and dresses to my nursing home. (Yeah, I live in one of those! It's where one goes when one doesn't purchase long-term care insurance or isn't independently wealthy and gets hit with a catastrophic, degenerative illness such as this, AND your family can't (or won't) care for you.)
I dispassionately, and relentlessly, plowed through years of loving accumulation, as my husband held up article upon article, "Does it stay? " or a separate question "Does it go?" so I could answer with a nod or a shake of my head. (It's all I am able to do since ALS took my voice. Well, I do have a speech generating device (SGD) but that takes too long.) I say "dispassionately" but that didn't hold true for my dresses.
That cream and cocoa Hawaiian-print skirt from the family vacation of 2008 to Maui. We got a "classic" family photograph with Mom and us three girls, lined-up outside of a gourmet cheese shop in Kihei, pinching our noses and pointing to one another. The sign over our heads read, "Who Cut the Cheese?".
Who else will appreciate the smokin' red hot sequins and gold bead-trimmed sheath dress, I wore to a Clyde Hill dot com start-up party. The host crossed the room of his swank party to greet my date with a loud, "Who is this vision in red?!" I felt like a million!
My classic navy power suit that helped me land more than one good job. And my Jones New York kohl pencil skirt with double-breasted overcoat, that made me feel as if I could take on the world, whether I was working in finance at the Gates Foundation, or working on payroll for a small tax firm.
Could anyone be more in love and feel more elegant than I did when I dolled myself up, and made reservations at The Nines in Portland for my husband's 54th birthday?! I'd pared my body down to size 10 from 18, and treated myself to a sophisticated black on bone racer-sleeveless sheath dress that I paired with shiny black and bone toeless pumps. He had a very good birthday! And, consequently, so did I!
That outfit was the hardest to say good-bye to, but my hope is that it will mean much to it's next owner, allowing them to make new stories.
.
I have ALS, otherwise known as amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, motor neuron disease, or Lou Gehrig's disease. This degenerative neuro-muscular disease destroys the motor neurons, the communication system between the brain and muscles, which renders one paralyzed and breathing compromised. There is no treatment nor cure thus ALS is 100% fatal. Since I find myself in the latter portion of the disease, a quadriplegic, confined to my bed most days, I have no practical use for much of my hard-earned wardrobe.
Finally the stars aligned where I could bear the dreaded chore, and my husband was willing to transport the dozens of 30-gallon spring green totes, full of shirts, pants, robes, career-wear, sportswear, and dresses to my nursing home. (Yeah, I live in one of those! It's where one goes when one doesn't purchase long-term care insurance or isn't independently wealthy and gets hit with a catastrophic, degenerative illness such as this, AND your family can't (or won't) care for you.)
I dispassionately, and relentlessly, plowed through years of loving accumulation, as my husband held up article upon article, "Does it stay? " or a separate question "Does it go?" so I could answer with a nod or a shake of my head. (It's all I am able to do since ALS took my voice. Well, I do have a speech generating device (SGD) but that takes too long.) I say "dispassionately" but that didn't hold true for my dresses.
That cream and cocoa Hawaiian-print skirt from the family vacation of 2008 to Maui. We got a "classic" family photograph with Mom and us three girls, lined-up outside of a gourmet cheese shop in Kihei, pinching our noses and pointing to one another. The sign over our heads read, "Who Cut the Cheese?".
Who else will appreciate the smokin' red hot sequins and gold bead-trimmed sheath dress, I wore to a Clyde Hill dot com start-up party. The host crossed the room of his swank party to greet my date with a loud, "Who is this vision in red?!" I felt like a million!
My classic navy power suit that helped me land more than one good job. And my Jones New York kohl pencil skirt with double-breasted overcoat, that made me feel as if I could take on the world, whether I was working in finance at the Gates Foundation, or working on payroll for a small tax firm.
Could anyone be more in love and feel more elegant than I did when I dolled myself up, and made reservations at The Nines in Portland for my husband's 54th birthday?! I'd pared my body down to size 10 from 18, and treated myself to a sophisticated black on bone racer-sleeveless sheath dress that I paired with shiny black and bone toeless pumps. He had a very good birthday! And, consequently, so did I!
That outfit was the hardest to say good-bye to, but my hope is that it will mean much to it's next owner, allowing them to make new stories.
.
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