1,667 days.

That’s how long the dress has been in my laundry basket.

1,667 days since I stood over the casket wearing it and kissed my husband goodbye for the last time.

Every Sunday as I do laundry, I get to the bottom of the hamper and freeze. Will this be the day that I finally take it out? Will I wash it and give it a place among my other dresses?

It’s quite a nice dress – though I’m sure it no longer fits. I lost almost 15 pounds in the 13 days between hearing the worst news of my life and the funeral. I dropped nearly two dress sizes and even then, the size 3 was loose. I was broken mentally and spiritually yet somehow expected this dress to perform a miracle and hold me up…to make me presentable as I attended the home going service for the man I’d spent nearly a decade loving, yet only a year as his wife.

Even if I decided to wash it, where does one even wear such a dress tied to unbearable sadness? What can I do while wearing that pretty floral frock that replaces an image of a grave site with one filled with joy and happiness?

That dress, crumpled and stained, seemed to represent the life my husband and I planned yet never fulfilled. It hurt to think of touching it, let alone removing it from the home it had known for 1,667 days.

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Some Sundays, I’m on autopilot and I forget the dress exists. I instinctively know not to reach into the hamper to remove the last item. Other days, I feel the tension in my body as I remove item after item, knowing it’s there, daring me to look at it.

Just now – after talking to a few other widows – I decided it was time. Time to let go of all the emotions tied to that dress. At first I thought I’d throw it in the trash. Then I thought about my hubby and how he always tried to help those who were less fortunate.

As I pulled the dress out the basket, it seemed frozen…stuck on that horrible day when the world seemed as though it would swallow me.

I stuck it in the washer – alone – and watched the water cascade down onto it. The stiffness of the fabric started giving way, allowing the water to seep into its grooves. There was something cathartic about watching the dress slowly releasing the tension that held it stuck in place for so many years.

I believe that was a message for me. We’re often so consumed with loss and sadness following the death of a spouse that we retreat to a corner, tucked away from the world. We bottle up our love and our heart, refusing to show them for fear of getting hurt again. I encourage you, like the dress, to embrace the water – whatever it is that allows you step out of the darkness. Whether it’s a hobby, passion or even a person, embrace it!

As I pulled the dress out the dryer, I folded it neatly and tucked it away to be donated. I hope it has better days ahead. 1,667 days is enough time to be hidden away. I hope it bring its new owner all the happiness her heart desires.

Mom to a feisty preschooler, Kerry Phillips became widowed at age 32. She runs an online support group for young widows and widowers venturing back into the world of dating and is a blogger for The Huffington Post.