Several Saturdays ago, I was dusting the furniture in the Florida Room while enjoying a cool, sunny March morning. With the windows open, I heard the distant sound of a train. This mundane task, which I’ve done hundreds of times before, has never had a significant emotional impact on me. But for some reason, on that particular Saturday morning, I suddenly had uncontrollable tears pouring down my cheeks, like a dam that let go from a mountaintop. Dusting, for some reason that day, became a weapon, assaulting the heavily reinforced gate that kept my pain at bay.
The framed portraits of loved ones, living and dead, that covered the otherwise barren television stand and side table didn’t give me comfort that morning but rather assailed my senses on every level. I thought, “If only I could hear the voices of my dad and brother, taken way too soon. If only all of us could be together again in the same room. If only I could catch a whiff of my mom’s Inis Cologne, even if I had to hear the hissing of the oxygen tank in the background.”
I asked myself, “Why today did the remnants of the past not comfort me as they usually did?” For years they could sit on a side table and evoke pleasant memories, and then in an instant, unexpectedly strike my soul with a crushing hunger for just one more minute with that person.
And then it hit me, the reason for the tsunami of grief. It was almost Spring. At that moment, I realized that while most people embraced the coming of the season of renewal, for my family, it is one of loss. I had buried virtually half of my family in March or April, as well as suffered the passing of two significant relationships during those months.
Funny how grief lies in our subconscious, intrinsically knowing our season of sorrow and like a timepiece set to alarm and erupt on cue, whether we are ready or not. And subsequently, we are standing in a room with a can of Pledge in our hand, caught off guard, and wondering, “What is going on with me?”
I really need to get a cleaning lady.
I could really relate to this. Except the dusting part.
This made me smile as I thought of all those I love and can no longer hug. Gone but always with us, even when we dust.
I relate and enjoyed this piece but quickly realized I will always be the cleaning lady and my work is never done
Fall was always difficult for me even though it is my favorite season. Traumatic memories have a weird way of resurfacing. I love your writing.
Your words flow beautifully.
Grief does come in waves, I’ve learned and can really knock us off our feet. Love your writing.
Isn’t funny how something will spark a memory of a loved one when we least expect it. But oh those memories are so sweet. Your writing is so vivid, I could see myself right next to you.
Can’t wait to see you in September…. We’ll eat, drink, laugh, maybe crochet, but we won’t dust.
It’s amazing how emotions crop up when we least expect them to. You’ve always had to be strong, but you have a very caring heart which has combined in a bitter/sweet creativity expressed through your writing.
Yes me too! Thanks!
Memories can be bittersweet. We hold them dearly to remember our loved ones, but we all experience unexpected waves of grief. These tears are not in vain. Reen’s writings remind us of this!
Thank you!
Have the same experiences while cleaning, especially photos. You captured the feelings so beautifully
Thanks so much!
Over the years, we’ve experienced grief on so many different levels. It makes you and breaks you. Keep sharing. You’re the best!
It’s in the small, daily details that we find ourselves, our hearts and souls, our joys and griefs. Your brief essays in it warm-heartedness and reality packs a powerful punch.
Dusting is the one household chore that I despise. You’ve shown me a reason to let it go from time to time.
Although my dusting days are waning (I love my cleaning women!), I can so relate to your words. Sometimes, I just walk by a photo of my mom or dad and it brings instant tears to my eyes. This also happens to me when i hear a song, instant tears of remembrance. So much love never leaves.
Thanks so much!
Wow. This one hit me hard. Fall is my hardest time for same reason. Your writing is so beautifully empathetic. Taking a deep breath after this one. PS… I’ll introduce you to my cleaning person, she’s a darling. ☺️
Wow, gave me so much to think about.. Never realized it but Fall is my “sad season”. My Dad, my Mom and my husband’s Mom all passed then. Love, love your perspective.