I went to visit a friend who happened to be unloading her dishwasher when I walked in the door. As she looped her fingers through three mug handles at a time, she shared that during her childhood, unloading the dishwasher had been her responsibility. And to make it more than just a tedious task, she would gather as many pieces of cutlery as she could possibly carry, hover over the drawer, and drop the silverware like tiny bombs into their places. It was a game to see how quickly she could empty her hands and return every utensil in its rightful home. Before I could offer to help, the cutlery drawer was complete. These are the qualities I love learning about my friends. Now whenever I reach for the hot and sterile spoons, I think of her, and I smile. Sometimes it’s these little things that shape our experience more than even the traumatic times. Of course they were there during the painful break up, they picked you up when you ran out of gas, they even helped you move, but do you also think of them when you put peanut m&m’s in your popcorn? Thanks Dad. Or put red nail polish on your fingernails? Amber. Or say a silly word like “re-donculous”? Michelle. And when do your friends think of you? Just the other day, my friend with the cutlery OCD texted me to say “I’m wearing stovepipe jeans and converse, I feel like you.”
"Grief can take care of itself, but to get the full value of joy you must have somebody to divide it with." - Mark Twain
