Tonight the handle of my clothes basket broke. It is a cheap plastic basket from Target. Nothing fancy. No big deal, right? Except, it was Boris’s laundry basket. I don’t remember why it was one of his belongings that I kept. It is sort of an odd thing to keep. But, it was practical. I have used it to move Boris’s belongings and my belongings twice to new homes. I use it every day for my dirty clothes and to carry them to and from the laundry room. It is like his daily routine is part of my daily routine…or something? But, now the handle is broken. So I have to decide if it is time to get rid of it. I guess it would be silly to keep a laundry basket with a broken handle.
Grief is weird. And sometimes a broken laundry basket is the trigger. Maybe it is because I know that I should get rid of it, which means another part of him will be gone. Or, maybe the broken handle represents the passage of time. That basket has held countless loads of laundry. In the last couple of years, it has carried clothes up and down stairs multiple times a week. And, it isn’t exactly a sturdy piece of furniture. It wasn’t made to last for decades. It was inevitable that it would break. But, it is a symbol of the way that time has passed since Boris died. It has been over 4 years. It is still so hard to believe it has been so long. So, when I picked up that basket and the handle snapped…it made my heart sink a little bit. It is just a laundry basket, but when it comes to grief, everything means something bigger. There really are no “justs” , are there?