Trash Bags

 The whirlwind surrounding  the week that we lost Patrick continues to pop up in my head in fragments.  Like the worst highlight reel; without warning. But when I think back on it, I was like a zombie-robot. Just going. Operating on adrenaline and disbelief. I remember my family scurrying around trying to stock me up with things, but the look of shock and sadness in their eyes I can never forget.   At one point, as I was preparing the kids for an activity, I looked over and my best friend was doubled over.  She had been trying so  hard to be strong for me, but I think it hit her. I didn't even shed a tear, I just asked "you alright?" and kept moving.  I was numb and in manager mode.  

After everyone had left to go home and return to their normal lives, I was grateful to be stocked with all of the things.  About six months later, I pulled out the last of the trash bags and it hit me. I was out of trash bags. I had no more cushion. I had to go back to getting things on my own. Patrick was really not here.  And although one would think that my overflowing tears would be in sadness in response to that devastating realization, the tears were those of gratitude.

Someone loved me enough, to make sure I didn't run out of trash bags. TRASH bags. It wasn't anything fancy or super expensive, it was just the thought that someone looked ahead and knew I may not be in a headspace to remember to buy them.  Someone wanted to make this awfully hard life a little  easier for me. I felt loved and seen during the worst time in my life.  I will never forget that.