I started writing this post several times over the last couple of months, but it seemed too strange, even for me. How to express this…comfort kept eluding me. I took a picture of this comfort, cropped it down, saved it, thinking it would help me settle my thoughts. But then I lost the pic somewhere in my stellar lack of computer skills. Ok, cosmos, thought I. Not time to write this yet.
And then I read a beautiful piece, written by a woman who lost her son, shared by another woman who’d lost her son, in part about the comforts we take that many won’t understand without having experienced the loss of a child. Cosmos, I get you.
See? I told you it was strange. What the heck is it, right? I actually have no idea other than Chris did it years ago, when he and a friend were doing constant chemical experiments in our basement. He’d been cleaning up and, somehow, this got on the pedestal of the sink in his bathroom. He tried to get it off. I tried to get it off. It. Would. Not. Come. Off. It was annoying, then. Now, it comforts me in that uncanny way I’m having a hard time understanding.
I have pictures, writings, clothes, his backpack, wallet, school books. So many tangible things he touched, he created. But I see this mysterious smear of whatever chemical they’d been playing with whenever I go into his bathroom, and it makes me smile. It says, “I was here!” It comes with a specific memory of a time he was really happy. What used to annoy me now brings me comfort, because that whole incident would have been forgotten had I been able to clean it away.
It’s a strange thing to take comfort in, when I have so many other things at my disposal. My kids teased me, years ago, because I wouldn’t clean my grandson’s baby handprint from the sliding glass door. For months, it stayed there. It made me happy to see it. An automatic welling of adoration for that little pipsqueak hit me every time I spotted it. And now it’s the same with that smear on the sink pedestal.
And it’s not just the smear. It’s the sticker in Gracie’s room, the one she put on the wall when she wasn’t supposed to. It’s the circular marks on the hardwood floor in Scott’s room, from the coins that had been on the floor when he spilled something and never cleaned it up. It’s the wedding gown Jamie left here after she and Josh got married, still hanging in the closet. Annoyances turned into comfort. Proof that there was a time when simple, silly things like this actually mattered enough to vex me.
Peace.
Modesty Is For Suckers 
It’s not a silly thing to take comfort in. Cherish it and be comforted by it. It’s the little things like that we all hold on too. Like the molding on the closet doors in the kids rooms of their measurements as they grew. We’ve painted and redone rooms and I will never ever get rid of those pieces of molding. The boys even wrote obnoxious things to each other on them (they shared a room for a while) and they are priceless. If we ever move, I’d rather replace the molding and take the kid’s with me when I go 🙂
Lovely post ❤
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That’s priceless, Debbie. It’s these little things we hold so dear. Thanks for that story.
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Beautiful once again, and I get it. Not to the extreme you face with Christofer gone, but I get it. Those little things left behind are wonderful reminders. Hugs and lots of love!
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Thanks, Bev. ❤️
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It’s those little things that bring us happiness & comfort. I would cherish that stain. I cannot imagine the loss you have suffered, but I get it. I left fingerprints from my grandson on my bottom of my full length mirror for 2 yrs. I don’t see them often, & I hold onto what I can. They’ve given me little stuffed animals, and they’re on my bed. Probably looks ridiculous, but I don’t care. I have every little piece of junk my sons made or bought at school fairs for me. And now I’m going to cry…….so many hugs I send you, Terri ❤️
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My darling, beautiful soul. My brilliant cousin. How I love you, and I haven’t even seen you in person in…I can’t even figure out how long. Hugging you back. ❤
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Aunt Mary’s 90th? For about two minutes. Not exactly the place to “catch up.” She’ll be 95 in Jan. Oh, how time flies. We will meet again…….
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That’s it! Wow. Gotta make it happen.
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This is lovely. Our house bears a number of battle scars we wouldn’t repair. I left my marks on my parents’ home, and they are still there, even though they are both gone now. These are the bits that make a house a home. ❤
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Thank you, Margaret. Battle scars. I like that.
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I so get this. When my last was two, he drew a picture with crayons on my bedroom wall. My husband wanted to paint over it. I wouldn’t let him! I knew it was the last time I’d have such artwork. That made it special. These moments don’t just leave their mark on our walls or sinks. They are also on our hearts and minds.
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My granddaughter put stickers all over my slider last weekend. Frank told Jamie not to worry about it, he’d clean them off. We still haven’t done it. 🙂
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