Socks (#1319)

Topics/tags: Michelle, short, sad

Warning! This is yet another sad musing.

This afternoon, I was folding laundry. At some point, I realized that (a) some of eldest’s socks were unmatched and (b) we probably had some matching socks in the unmatched socks pile. So, I started looking through the pile.

And I started crying.

Then I started sobbing.

You see, some of Michelle’s socks are in that pile.

And, believe it or not, socks are meaningful.

In part, it’s that Michelle loved socks. She loved colorful socks. She particularly loved coloful SmartWool socks. I even remember where we bought some of the socks in the mismatched pile; it was when we were flying home from Portland at the start of the pandemic, right after a great trip together. We planned to go back. We never managed to do so.

It’s also that Michelle’s love language was service. So when I matched socks for her, I showed love. I felt it. She felt it (or so I hope). I miss the sense of love and happiness that I used to have when matching socks. And that loss is tangible. Little acts of service (and other expressions of love languages) are what keep us going.

Then, there are the memories of the last few months of her life. She often wasn’t able to put her own socks on, so I did so for her. Another sign of love. Also time together. And connection. All gone.

I told a friend about the experience. And they said, You must have so many reminders of Michelle around you. And we do. I regularly pass by her wallet that sits by the fridge and her purse that sits by her bed [1]. But those don’t make me cry. At least not usually. They’re part of my everyday existence.

But the socks? They are such a reminder of what I’ve lost. The love. The connection. The chance to show love. To be loved.

I know, I know. I’ll always love her. She’ll always love me. And I’ll always be able to remember the ways each of us showed love for each other.

But …

Postscript: You can fill in the rest.

Postscript: I suppose I also subconsciously considered the issue of a sock without its mate. I don’t want to dig too deeply into that concept.

[1] Why are they still there? It’s not that they sit there awaiting her return like they did when she was in the hospital this summer; she won’t be back [2]. It’s that between work, the estate paperwork, and the need to take some time to myself, I haven’t had the time or emotional energy to do much with her stuff. I suppose there isn’t

[2] Sometimes it’s nice to pretend she will be.

Version 1.0 of 2024-12-14.