So, back to the task at hand. Dishes. Grabbing the large towel that is by the sink I set it on the floor under the cabinet. No the towel is not to stand on. Its because every time I do the dishes water gets all over the floor. Why? because there is no lip on the counter and water goes trickling down the cabinet and onto the floor. I usually step in said water and (I am so graceful) proceed to slip and slide on the tile. Just another reason why I LOVE to do the dishes. (Note the sarcasm)
Now that everything is set, I turn on the hot water, open the dishwasher and start dish tetris. Picking up the bowl on top I proceed to scrub vigorously at the stain on the side of the bowl. As, I was scrubbing I thought to myself, why did I still have this bowl? That stain had been there the last time I tried to scrub it out. With a sigh I set it off to the side and picked up the steel colander instead. While rinsing it out my mind wandered to a conversation with my middle child about said item. My friend had gotten a new set of nesting colanders and asked me if I wanted the set she no longer needed. I said that yes, I would love them. Peter, (middle child) stood next to me during this conversation and asked me if I planned to get rid of the other set we had. At first I thought, of course I would. Then I thought, well... maybe..
Pete taught me to cook. He taught me to wrap presents, he showed me the joy of family, of life. It wasn't the stuff. It was him. It was the life we created. We had joy, we had love, we had kids, we had laughter, we had fights over the dumbest stuff. We had sleepless nights, and worries about money, and bickering about those dang spots on the silverware. We had road trips, endless conversations, we had tears and misunderstandings. So often I have wondered if it really happened? For many, many, years I have wanted so badly for those happier memories back. The memories that trauma took due to self preservation. And in these moments some of them came forward. I remembered a piece of our life, and not just from a picture and a foggy memory, or half a story that someone once told me. A piece that I didn't know I needed until that moment. Those housewares were a part of him and he was a part of me. Most of my life up until that time with him, had been spent feeling like I didn't belong anywhere. But with him, I belonged. Just like those bowls that nested together.