Day Two: The Garden Weasel
It's hard to figure out what will set off an emotional avalanche these days. Some days, it's a song on the radio. Others, it's the junk in my mailbox.
Yep, a dumb coupon for the Garden Weasel did me in today.
Since my Mom passed away on June 20, I haven't really taken the time to reflect on the ways we as humans are suppose to grieve. Crying seems to be the most popular (and darn convenient). But it's soooo tiring. After two weeks of crying every conscious moment, I began to think (hope? pray?) that there was more to grieving than just reducing oneself to a giant swollen tear duct.
So I've been writing about the way I feel rather than having my sorrow culminate into uncontrollable sobs. This is Day Two on my thoughts and feelings, and for the most part it has been working. (See?? No tears now. Just cramped and sweaty hands typing as fast as possible.) But then I looked in my mailbox earlier and spotted that dumb packet of coupons.
My Mom loved getting junk mail. She would pour over every single grocery store circular, department store catalog, and coupon booklet that came to her attention. She would cut out photos of random things that maybe one of her children could use, like a water filter or electric fireplace or recordable key chain.
The coupon in question was advertising the Garden Weasel, a hand-held rotary device that tills soil. For some reason, I thought about how my Mom would have seen that and thought of me--or, more accurately, my champion gardener of a husband. And I broke down on my front steps. Oy vey.
Conclusion: I will stop looking at my junk mail. It can literally bring me to tears.