Fuzzy Pink Socks
My sister and brother in law took me out to the movies last night. I had been wanting to see "IRONMAN" for awhile now, and I was not disappointed. I guess it's the job of family and friends to help distract me for awhile; get me out of the house and thinking on other things.
It worked for awhile. But when I got home late last night, I took some clothes out of the washer, put them in the dryer, and loaded the washer again. Pajamas, t-shirts, some towels . . . a pair of fuzzy pink socks. The ones that Jane wore her last couple of days here. They're nice and fuzzy, which helped to keep her increasingly cold feet stay warm.
I picked up those socks and held them to my chest for a little while. I probably won't have the need to wash them and fold them again. I got my pajamas on, and went to bed; and I laid there thinking, "she's really gone," and "I want her back, Lord." Not to be.
When I awoke this morning, a similar feeling was there. I don't have to tip-toe around the house when I get up early anymore (nobody to wake but the kids, and they sleep through anything). So I made some coffee, sat down to read the online newspaper, and re-read Jane's obituary again.
I often wondered why the paper left the obituaries running for so long (online at least). I think maybe it's partly for the left-behinds as a reminder that their loved-ones are not on vacation, or visiting mother, or friends; but really, truly gone. Nothing like seeing the name in print to cinch it.
I have a few errands to run today, and a couple of visits with folks, so I'll stay occupied, and have my mind off Jane most of the time. But I am afraid that one day will come when I don't think about her, or cry at least once that day, and I'm afraid of that. I suppose it's only natural.
It worked for awhile. But when I got home late last night, I took some clothes out of the washer, put them in the dryer, and loaded the washer again. Pajamas, t-shirts, some towels . . . a pair of fuzzy pink socks. The ones that Jane wore her last couple of days here. They're nice and fuzzy, which helped to keep her increasingly cold feet stay warm.
I picked up those socks and held them to my chest for a little while. I probably won't have the need to wash them and fold them again. I got my pajamas on, and went to bed; and I laid there thinking, "she's really gone," and "I want her back, Lord." Not to be.
When I awoke this morning, a similar feeling was there. I don't have to tip-toe around the house when I get up early anymore (nobody to wake but the kids, and they sleep through anything). So I made some coffee, sat down to read the online newspaper, and re-read Jane's obituary again.
I often wondered why the paper left the obituaries running for so long (online at least). I think maybe it's partly for the left-behinds as a reminder that their loved-ones are not on vacation, or visiting mother, or friends; but really, truly gone. Nothing like seeing the name in print to cinch it.
I have a few errands to run today, and a couple of visits with folks, so I'll stay occupied, and have my mind off Jane most of the time. But I am afraid that one day will come when I don't think about her, or cry at least once that day, and I'm afraid of that. I suppose it's only natural.
Labels: Ironman, pink fuzzy socks, reminders
posted by Doug at June 07, 2008
1 Comments:
Doug, that day when you realize it's been a few, when it comes, you will unload the backlog of tears and feelings that will have built up for a few days. It reminds you that you will never forget her.
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