outreach program
Day 5: Outreach Program
'It’s for charity, Sasuke. It might help.’
Sasuke took a deep breath and brought his shaky hands towards the handles of the heavy closet door. With one tug, a gust of stale air blew out and he stared at the small space that once was his wife’s for the first time since the year that she passed.
The first object that caught his attention was her favorite green knit sweater still draped on its hook where she last left it. The sweater was the very same one she wore the first time he saw her one clear spring day, her eyes bright, her smile wide, everything from that moment permanently inscribed in his memory.
His hands grasped the familiar piece of fabric and pulled it off its hanger. He fingered the material lightly and faintly detected the smell of the fabric softener she often used for her clothes. One whiff of it sent him into a spiral of memories that were now too bittersweet to revisit.
The onset of nostalgia felt unbearable and in that second he knew.
He couldn’t do this.
With a shaky breath, Sasuke sank down to the floor and leaned against the closet frame. He clutched the crumpled sweater to his chest welling it to stop the ache in his heart.
There was a reason he hadn’t opened these doors, it was simple:
It was just too painful.
This space was hers— it smelled like her, belonged to her, it had traces of who she was in its every nook and cranny.
Everything was a reminder of all that he’d lost.
He couldn’t give away the sweater in his hands, nor the billowy white dress she wore on their first date. He couldn’t let go of the scarlet shirt she wore on the day he proposed, couldn’t part with the nightgown she wore on their wedding night.
None of these should leave him as she did.
All these material things were pieces of who she was and if these pieces of her were gone, what little would he have left?
One tear fell, then two. Silent sobs wracked the man as his mind rekindled with the remnants of Sakura’s ghosts.
‘I can’t do this without you. I never wanted to.’
A faint knock on the door was heard but Sasuke heeded it no mind. Small light footsteps neared his form on the ground and a gentle hand soon clasped his shoulder.
“Papa?”
Sasuke looked up to the heavy dark eyes of his daughter. She looked worried—concerned, the same look Sakura gave him whenever he was distraught.
“She wouldn’t have wanted us to be sad.”
Sarada’s arms wrapped around him in a comforting embrace and Sasuke grasped onto his child while fighting for breaths to breathe.
“I know, Sarada, I know.”
They stayed like this for several minutes, perhaps hours. When the sun shone the next day, a box lay on the floor full of clothes that smelled of fresh cherry blossoms.
‘Merry Christmas, Mama. We miss you.’