Part of Grieving is Missing the Small Things

Tune into the small things in your new acquaintance’s lives.

Dog has to go out first thing in the morning, before my cup of tea. Before I am fully mobile. When we get back in, she races full speed to report. She has to tell her human mother what a good job she did and how many stations she visited. She has to report who we met (no one at that ungodly hour) and that she narrowly avoided being hit by the rotating sprinkler.

Dog’s human mother isn’t here. She died a year ago. Dog comes looking for me. She gives me “the eye.” Where is her human mother? What have I done with her? She doesn’t understand. I am still missing her like crazy and grieving.

It’s not a good way to start the day.

I give Dog a cookie. She seems happy with the substitution.

She’s such a little thing. Little things seem to define us.

I broke eggs the other day to fry for several breakfasts. There were a few with double yolks. My wife used to get so excited about eggs with double yolks. I used to buy eggs from a private seller just because there were always double yolks in the mix, not because they were less expensive.

She was an accomplished golfer. She used to be so excited when she would out drive a male she was playing with.

The last disagreement we had, and she was seriously ill by this time, was about the US flag. She was prior-military and wanted that flag down at night. The flag was stationary, high up and needed a ladder to get to it. I tried to explain that all of the neighbors left their flags out all the time. When I went inside, she wrestled with the flag until she had pulled it down and broke the holding bracket. No more flags out all night that year. This year I found a flag light. The flag is now lit up at night. How could I have missed such a little thing to make her happy?

She always carried a jackknife. She used to cut off a small branch from a flowering tree or a flower from the roadside, which she would then bring to me. It would make us both happy. Such small things.

My neighbor friend called me on the phone a few days ago. She rarely calls on the phone, so I was afraid it was an emergency. She just wanted to share that she had bought new appliances, a refrigerator, microwave and freezer. She said she only needed a new refrigerator, but all three were 20 years old. She is old and didn’t want to face the freezer going out at its convenience, instead of hers.

She called me again yesterday. The store had delivered the refrigerator. They had to take the doors off to get it into the kitchen. They also had to take the doors off of the old one to get it out.

Small things to share, excitement. There was more.

A friend moved to a different town by herself. We kept in touch mainly by texting and, occasionally, phone calls. A cat started showing up at her house, so we named it. We made up exploits of its day-to-day activities. She took in a dog, who she taught to bang the cow bell she had hanging on her door when he needed to go out. I heard how he loved to ride around on her lawn mower. She would go to McDonald's every morning and get a cup of coffee. She is outgoing, so she soon established a friendship with an older man who would come in there for breakfast. He would tell her about his day, the small things. He is someone to share with, as we share our friendship and laughter.

I got the boat washed down the other day and it is now ready to go into the garage. I deadheaded the flowers in the flower bed, then I finally found a standup dustpan.

Small things. Now I have no one at home with whom to share the small details of my day. There is no one to give attention and rewards for the accomplishments I’ve managed to complete for the day. There are no “Atta Girls” coming my way.

That seems to me to be the defining characteristic of a friendship or a romance. It is a knowledge of characteristics that can only occur through history with an individual and developing knowledge of their likes and dislikes, the small things. The things you don’t immediately share with a new person, like when is your birthday? What do you do for a living? What is your sign? Where do you live? Are you a Vegan? Do you like dogs? Someone may share they like golf, but no one would guess the pleasure of out-driving your male golfing partner that day.

Sharing the small things, day-by-day, are important.

One of the old songs playing is, “You can’t buy friendship.” Friendship can only bloom with time and exposure. It is one of the Pots of Promise.

One of the pitfalls of grieving is the numbness that envelops us. I don’t know how many subtle clues I have missed because of it. I have missed small things that define another person, which is missing a chance to build a friendship or a relationship.

Grieving isn’t just missing your loved one. Another part of it is feeling sorry for yourself. It is the feeling that you have no one to care about the small things, the inconsequential things. There is no longer someone to offer “Atta Girls.”

Re-entering life is not a small thing.

Let me know how you are doing. I care.

Sincerely,

Lynn Brooke

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Photo Credit: © 2023 Rachel Gareau