Before I begin, this post is not looking for sympathy. It is simply an attempt to share a little piece of how strange and unpredictable grief can be. If you have been through deep loss, you already know. If you have not, maybe this will help you understand.
I washed the orange cup today. And no, the orange cup is not a metaphor. It is just a small plastic cup from a multicolored set. Perfect for the bathroom sink. Just the right size for a sip of water in the middle of the night or to take daily medicine.
I had not washed it since before January 1st. Before you think that is awful, I had not used it either. That little orange cup was the last thing in the house that Mark’s lips touched on January 1st before he was taken away in an ambulance and never came home again.
I picked it up many times before, thinking the moment had come to wash it and put it away. But each time it wasn’t. I would hold that cup close, cry a little or sometimes cry a lot, then put it right back next to the sink. It just was not time yet.
Today, it finally was. Today, I washed the cup.
When my mother died, her house coat hung on the back of the bathroom door. Five years later, when my father died, it was still there. He had cleared out so many of her belongings, but not that house coat. If he had lived another ten years, I believe it might still have been there. Or maybe not.
That is the thing. Grief does not follow rules. It does not make sense. It is unpredictable, it is deeply personal, and sometimes it is very, very strange.
So the next time you wonder why someone grieving does or does not do something that seems normal to you, remember this. Grief is weird. Sometimes they are just not ready to wash the cup.