It is amazing
how fuzzy socks filled with warm
memories can draw blood
Today in Denver the weather dropped to below freezing, with snow forecasted all day, after several 90+ degree days. Sara didn’t like to drive in the snow, but enjoyed it otherwise – neither of us are fans of intense summer heat.
Instead of sharing the excitement at such a 180-degree weather change with Sara, I had to resort to pulling on her rainbow fuzzy socks to keep my feet warm this morning. As I pulled the socks over my feet, my mind took me to the many times she would ask me to get her some fuzzy socks or slippers, and I would happily do so, often pulling them over her feet for her. My love language is acts of service for my loved ones – doing little things for Sara like putting her fuzzy socks on her is something I miss so incredibly much.
I have all this love for Sara, but she is gone, and now I’m crying on my lunch break.
Although the notable anniversary days can be hard, I’m finding the day to day even harder. Everything – from a pair of fuzzy socks, to caring for our pets, to cooking in the kitchen Sara loved so much, to reading on our bed – carries with it memories and remnants of our life together. It’s like our home has been booby-trapped with thumbtacks and slivers and hidden water balloons that surface when I least expect them, such that at the end of each day I’m either hurting from being poked, dripping wet with grief, or exhausted from trying to navigate so carefully as to avoid any of the traps.
But for now, I have to pull myself together, finish my lunch, and continue on with my day.