Widow's Voice

It’s just a clothes basket.

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Tonight the handle of my clothes basket broke. It is a cheap plastic basket from Target. Nothing fancy. No big deal, right? Except, it was Boris’s laundry basket. I don’t remember why it was one of his belongings that I kept. It is sort of an odd thing to keep. But, it was practical. I have used it to move Boris’s belongings and my belongings twice to new homes. I use it every day for my dirty clothes and to carry them to and from the laundry room. It is like his daily routine is part of my daily routine…or something? But, now the handle is broken. So I have to decide if it is time to get rid of it. I guess it would be silly to keep a laundry basket with a broken handle.

Grief is weird. And sometimes a broken laundry basket is the trigger. Maybe it is because I know that I should get rid of it, which means another part of him will be gone. Or, maybe the broken handle represents the passage of time. That basket has held countless loads of laundry. In the last couple of years, it has carried clothes up and down stairs multiple times a week. And, it isn’t exactly a sturdy piece of furniture. It wasn’t made to last for decades. It was inevitable that it would break. But, it is a symbol of the way that time has passed since Boris died. It has been over 4 years. It is still so hard to believe it has been so long. So, when I picked up that basket and the handle snapped…it made my heart sink a little bit. It is just a laundry basket, but when it comes to grief, everything means something bigger. There really are no “justs” , are there?

About Victoria Helmly

My love story began in 2005 and though my love is no longer physically here with me, our story has not ended. I met Boris when we were 14, but it was not until our junior and senior year of high school that we became more than friends (he was my first kiss!). We went to the same college and although our relationship was a bit rocky through our early 20s, we made it through. He was my person. Our relationship grew stronger as we matured and learned about one another more as adults. I was certain that he was my forever. We talked about the future a lot and we knew we would get married, but we did not want to rush—he was still finishing graduate school and I was just starting my first full-time job. We did not realize how little time we had left together.

In the summer of 2017, Boris was hospitalized three times for active suicidal ideation. This was a heartbreaking, exhausting, and life-changing experience. After 10 months of therapy, medication, and support groups, Boris died by suicide on April 7, 2018. My life now has two parts: the one before April 7, 2018 and the one after. My very best friend, my person was now gone.

If you were to ask how I am doing now, 2.5 years later, I would say I am okay. I am living. My world continues to spin, and I continue to move forward. However, I still carry deep sorrow and loneliness. I have struggled with PTSD, anxiety, and depression. Sometimes I still cannot believe that he is actually gone. I still feel him with me, and I know that I will never stop loving and missing him.

I am currently in school for my Ph.D. and live just outside of Atlanta with our cat, Kitty Cat (Boris is responsible for the creative name). I work as a graduate research assistant currently, but I worked for three years with our State Unit on Aging prior to going back to school. I love movies, my friends and family, long walks, and traveling.