The Half-Empty Closet

A personal essay by Sabrina Scheufler Gallegos.

I could always tell my dad was in the room by the smell. It was a thick, oaky scent that reminded me of fall. Every time I hugged him, his cologne transferred to my clothes like a stamp. I never knew much about my dad, other than his interest in sports and business. In 2020, a year that was kind to everyone, my parents announced their separation to me, and for some reason, I was okay with it. It wasn’t until one random summer day that I felt everything crumbling down.

It all started with a text I got from my ‘situationship’ guy. It was the same text I had been receiving since the day I started dating. “Yeah, so I don’t think this is gonna work. I’m trying to figure myself out and be alone right now.” Typical. I thought. At the moment, I was sleeping in the master bedroom with my mom, since my dad had moved out months prior. As I lay beside my mom, my eyes were glued to my phone. My mind paused but my fingers kept typing. I didn’t know what I was saying but I knew I was upset; it felt like my chest was being tied in knots. My paragraphs definitely consisted of, “I can’t believe you texted me this and didn’t call” or “you led me on!”.  My hands were shaking with panic and it felt like my stomach had a pool of dancing ballerinas pressing their pointe shoes everywhere. I felt a few drops of tears surfacing my jawline and bleeding into my skin. Am I not enough? I kept thinking to myself. I feared my mom would wake up and hear me crying, so I took my phone to the master bathroom. Its modern chic interior with pearl white countertops comforted me. The floor was as shiny as a freshly cleaned ice skating rink. I thought about being dramatic and crying on the bathroom floor, but I knew I’d freeze. Still panicking and shaking, I took my phone past the bathroom and into my father’s closet, well, old closet. It was a walk-in closet that could be considered a small runway. The floor was no longer an ice skating rink, but a soft blanket-like surface. While the knots in my chest began to untie themselves, I sat down on the carpeted floor of my dad’s closet. As I put my phone down to relax a bit, I noticed many things. Why does the closet feel bigger? Why are half of my dad’s clothes gone? Where are all of his suits and ties?

  A few weeks into the pandemic, my mom told me she and my dad were getting separated. Separated? The only time I heard that word and got upset was when One Direction separated in 2015. Or when headlines mentioned Selena Gomez and Justin Bieber were ‘separating’. I never thought that word would be connected to MY parents. They had been together for 25 years. Isn’t that some sort of milestone? Anyways, when my mom said the ‘S’ word, I was confused, but not scared or angry, at least not until this very moment I was stuck in the one place that perfectly painted my dad’s identity. 

As I sat in his closet with my dried-out tears, I began to imagine the closet when it wasn’t a semi- blank canvas, when my dad was present. His suits were aligned like keys in a piano, structured and perfectly straight. Every suit had a character of its own. Some were boring and conforming like they wanted to be on the safe side of fashion. Others were funky and loud like they wanted to be the star of the show at every function. His ties were my favorite part-they each had their story. I remember they were placed inside his drawer. That drawer looked like a watercolor palette. Every tie was divided into little boxes like they each had their own rooms. Like my dad’s suits, some ties were more serious and quiet, while others screamed outgoing patterns and colors. My dad IS his closet. He is organized and reserved like his suits, but also loud and funny like the patterns on his tie. At any function, he is the star of the show, as his colorful suits. All I could think about while imagining his flawlessly clean suits and ties, was that none of it was there anymore. The most important part of his personality in that house was gone, erased. 

Maybe I hadn’t thought about my parents’ separation because I hadn’t SEEN it. Maybe I felt like it wasn’t going to happen. I felt like Rachel from ‘Friends’ when Monica told her she was going to move in with Chandler and she didn’t believe her, except I didn’t believe my parents were separating or that my dad was moving away. He kept coming back to visit-so I assumed it was just a phase. But after seeing his half-empty closet, I could finally believe it. At this point, Mr. Situationship didn’t even cross my mind. My glass eyes began to hold all the tears I had been restraining this whole time. One blink and I was in tears again. But this time it was because I missed my dad. 

The one area of the closet that still had his clothes was his ‘casual wear’. I saw rows of crewneck sweaters and sweatshirts and soccer jerseys. While looking at his soccer jerseys, my mind went to him and me watching the world cup together. He has these ‘soccer screams’ that he does whenever Germany or Mexico scores a goal. They always gave me jump scares, but it was the only time I saw his true emotions. I finally stood up and patted my face with my hands to remove the tears that had melted on my skin. I didn’t pick my phone up from the floor because I couldn’t deal with frivolous text messages. Instead, I felt the layers of sweatshirts and jerseys. I wanted to grab all of them and keep the last of my dad’s memories in my house. I began to browse his sweatshirts as if I was shopping. ‘Oh, he wore this when we went to the airport once,’ I remembered. I started disorganizing the pristine closet by grabbing the sweatshirts and jerseys I wanted to keep and wear. 

I realized how much my dad meant to me and how I had been avoiding it for a long time. I rarely appreciated his presence when he lived in that house. As I left the half-empty closet holding a mountain of sweatshirts, I felt as if I was taking a part of him in that house. He wasn’t gone, nor was he ‘separated’ from me. While my parents aren’t together, I feel closer to them individually. I see them through clearer glass, whereas before, the glass was blurry and stained with dishonesty. Ever since my parents split, I started sleeping with my mom on my dad’s old side; Maybe it’s because I wanted to comfort my mom or keep my dad’s old side alive. Grabbing articles of clothing from my dad’s closet and experiencing my past with him, I was reminded of how fortunate I was to even miss him. From that moment on, I appreciated getting to know my dad’s authentic self. And even though my dad’s old closet is half-empty, or half-full, I treasure it because it once belonged to him. Plus, it’s a comfortable place to lay down and cry when I’m having a mental breakdown.