The memories. The triggers. The thoughts. The sights. The sounds. The reminders.
There is no place safe. The towel bar that once held 2 towels and now one bars stares at me empty whenever I walk into the bathroom and shouts at me every time I hang up my one towel. The chore list that has clothespins for Kaitlyn and Zach.
The snowpants. The dishes I got from Scott for my birthday a few years ago. The clothes hanging in the closet. The memory foam mattress that seems to have a long memory of 2 and isn’t adjusting well to one. The seat at the head of the table. The mug. The jacket. The shaving cream.
This is how it will be. Never free from the chance that something will bring a memory, a reminder, a smile or a tear with them in mind. I figure I have two options. I can live in fear of the pain of that, or I can keep walking with eyes wide open, knowing there will be pain but trusting the One who holds me in and through the pain. Because really, avoiding, closing my eyes, I don’t think those things shelter me from the pain only prevent me from keeping on with the living.
And so I walk through the day, not in fear or dread, but in weariness. Numbing weariness. The hugs feel forced. The questions tiring. The thoughts slow.
And I’ll rest. I’ll go ahead and let myself huddle beneath the blankets and drift to sleep, read or stare. The tasks will have to wait and remain on the very long to do list in my head. Small things. Baby steps. One moment at a time.