I May Never Wash My Sheets Again

I’m not the filthy kind of person the title of this post might lead you to believe. There’s a reason for my resolve to not wash my sheets again (at least for now). My husband and I last slept within those sheets together the night he went to the hospital…his last night in our bed. While his scent is dissipating, which makes me so incredibly sad, at least I know his body touched those same sheets, and for some crazy reason…that gives me comfort.

You might think, “that woman is out of her mind!” And…in some ways, you might be right. Grief has a way of doing that to people. I remember that all-too-clearly after my first widow experience. In the same way, grief has a way of showing you it doesn’t really matter what people think (most of the time). If it’s not hurting anyone, and it’s not in this case, then who cares! Yes – I’ll eventually wash the sheets. But, for now…I’m content to have that little piece of Joel still close to me (at least in my feeble way of thinking).

I still sleep on “my side of the bed”, but now I drift a little over to his area and snuggle his pillow instead of him. Not the same. I still make up our bed every single morning, but now I do it alone instead of together with my prince. So many changes. Too many changes.

The unity that comes with marriage is suddenly broken with death…at least physically. But, the unity of the heart – at least one-sided now – is still there. I guess that keeps me constantly looking for ways to keep “us” alive. For now, sleeping on dirty sheets is one of the ways. Bear with me…