As moving day nears, and I begin to get the house prepared for movers to come and pack and rifle through everything I own, I've been trying to get rid of stuff. Clothes that the kids can't wear that aren't nice enough to hand down to friends' kids, the millions of baskets people gave loaded with candy at Easter, and the other quirky things that accumulate under the kitchen sink and the likes. I evaluate which things will go where, and then I come to his drawers...
OK, so I have this theory about the married couple living inside my head. The woman is very sentimental about every thing; the man being the practical side of my thoughts. These two are constantly in conflict over what they think I should do in every situation, and it wears me out. I usually err on the side of the man in the argument here, since I am usually a practical-minded person; however, the woman wins some of the bigger feuds, and I guess the score somehow remains even.
Back to the issue of the day. Socks. Tom's not using them anymore. They're taking up an entire drawer in our chest-of-drawers. Yet, they are his. Here's the drama ensuing in my mind:
Woman: Are you insane? Get rid of them? But he has touched them. They used to protect his feet, carried him many a mile on those infantry roadmarches, and there was something special about his feet.
Man: Oh good grief. They're just socks.
Woman: But by moving them out of the drawer, or completely getting rid of them, you are moving him out of your life. It has begun. You are no longer in love with him.
Man: They're just socks.
This goes on and on. I look at the socks, many of them beginning to be threadbare and a few with a hole or two. I think of the hard times we endured financially. It was an easy choice for us when I became pregnant with our first child that I would stay at home with the kids. However, it was not the easiest choice to endure. Having a family of four with big bills on one income, being a soldier no less, was no picnic. Those socks symbolized to me all of the things that Tom went without so that his wife and children would never want for anything. He had more integrity in his little finger than anyone I've ever known. (Don't get me wrong -- he had his moments, as do all of us...)
I moved the socks from his drawer to the bed, pairing them all up, wondering what to do. Rather than toss them onto the bed like I usually do, I laid them out gently and softly like a little girl lays her baby doll in a cradle. They're just socks, but they were his.
I got rid of Tom's socks today.
OK, so I have this theory about the married couple living inside my head. The woman is very sentimental about every thing; the man being the practical side of my thoughts. These two are constantly in conflict over what they think I should do in every situation, and it wears me out. I usually err on the side of the man in the argument here, since I am usually a practical-minded person; however, the woman wins some of the bigger feuds, and I guess the score somehow remains even.
Back to the issue of the day. Socks. Tom's not using them anymore. They're taking up an entire drawer in our chest-of-drawers. Yet, they are his. Here's the drama ensuing in my mind:
Woman: Are you insane? Get rid of them? But he has touched them. They used to protect his feet, carried him many a mile on those infantry roadmarches, and there was something special about his feet.
Man: Oh good grief. They're just socks.
Woman: But by moving them out of the drawer, or completely getting rid of them, you are moving him out of your life. It has begun. You are no longer in love with him.
Man: They're just socks.
This goes on and on. I look at the socks, many of them beginning to be threadbare and a few with a hole or two. I think of the hard times we endured financially. It was an easy choice for us when I became pregnant with our first child that I would stay at home with the kids. However, it was not the easiest choice to endure. Having a family of four with big bills on one income, being a soldier no less, was no picnic. Those socks symbolized to me all of the things that Tom went without so that his wife and children would never want for anything. He had more integrity in his little finger than anyone I've ever known. (Don't get me wrong -- he had his moments, as do all of us...)
I moved the socks from his drawer to the bed, pairing them all up, wondering what to do. Rather than toss them onto the bed like I usually do, I laid them out gently and softly like a little girl lays her baby doll in a cradle. They're just socks, but they were his.
I got rid of Tom's socks today.
7 comments:
Guitar Girl,
This is one of my all time favorite posts. Not just of your posts, but of all the blogpostsinthewholeworld.
glad you're bloggin'!
*sigh*...*sniff*... to say that was really touching is not really enough. I can imagine myself feeling the same way about my husbands socks. How many times have I inwardly grumbled that I had to fold them again, or pick them up off the floor and get them to the hamper. But I am so thankful that he is here to leave his dirty socks.
Love you friend!
I am so sad that I wasn't there for you then. As military wives, we make friends so quickly and then leave them behind even faster. I pray that nothing in your life is ever this difficult to deal with ever again. But if there is any problem in your life, big or small, you better call me. I would have driven my little happy ass down to that crap hole of a place called Louisiana and been there for you in a heartbeat. So, you better call me, day or night (I have 2 kids, it's not like I sleep anyways). I have missed you so much. There is not much that I miss about Louisiana, but I have missed you and how well we just got along so great. Maybe that was just 2 Texas girls trying to deal with being stuck in Louisiana. Promise me that we will never lose touch ever again, no matter where life or the Army takes us. BTW, I still need to catch up on the drama that happened on good old Ryan Street after I left. We have to get together, I know that we have great stories to share.
How in the world is it I'm only now discovering you? Gretchen led me here.
This is one of the most moving posts I've ever, ever read. Just socks. I don't think so.
What a way you have with words.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CHICA!
Revisiting my favorite post, ever in honor of your big day!
As your self-appointed fairy blogmother, I grant thee:
Honesty, Humility & Humor... that you would be surrounded by people who exude those virtues and who appreciate you for all you are, all the days of your life.
blessings, birthday chica!!!
I am joining the party! Amber asked us to leave you something that starts with the first letter of our blog name. Here's mine "sing and make music in your heart to the Lord, always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ." Ephesians 5:19b-20. Wishing you songs in your heart on your special day!
Oh... The socks... *sniff* Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.
So happy birthday - a day or so late - and I wish you the blessing of Joy!!!
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