Every day when I move about our house and interact with our things I can’t help but thank about all of the things we have that Sara and George were supposed to outlive:
The white-out tape on the table downstairs.
The bag of nuts in the pantry.
Sara’s shower products.
The electric water kettle we have downstairs in our tea corner.
The rolls of toilet paper in our bathrooms, from the 24 roll box we had delivered last October, right after Sara went into the hospital.
The vegan meat-substitute products in our freezer for Sara.
The 10 pounds of ground beef I bought when it was on sale on Amazon Fresh last year.
The bathroom hand soap.
The large container of laundry detergent pods.
The candle on Sara’s nightstand.
Our supply of printer paper, and printer ink.
I hate that these things are still here, and that Sara and George are not. It doesn’t make sense. I know it’s not logical to get mad at inanimate objects, but those feelings are present.
Some days are bearable – I can see these things and go about my day. Other days I have to hold back an urge to throw the electric kettle against the wall. Maybe because I’m home so much now (pretty much all the time thanks to the Coronavirus) I think I’m getting a little more sensitive to these things. It’s lonely and I’m sad.
Grief is not logical. Even though these things trigger my grief, I know that even if I were to get rid of everything and move and start over, the grief would still be present, because these thing aren’t the cause of my grief. The loss of my person and our son, is the cause of my grief and I can’t say that I feel it will ever really get better. I’ll keep living and feeling and loving and being sad. I don’t know what life has in store for me, but for now I’ll just keep using up these objects that were supposed to be gone long before Sara and George ever were.