Socks

Shortly after he died I cleaned out most of the drawers in his bathroom. I just needed a release and most of that stuff I had no connection to. I threw away countless tubes of sunblock, various oral care devices (he was prone to cavities and Bill Davis was NOT going to let anything get the best of him, least of all a cavity.) I threw out a random assortment of ointments, chapstick, eye drops, and shaving lotion.

But I could not throw out the socks.

I bought a new bed, new bedding, a new mattress, and new end tables. I gave all the old stuff away. I could not stand sleeping in our bed any longer. It was too painful. I would toss and turn all night long thinking, he should be laying right here next to me. Now I just have a big bed all to myself and while this is incredibly lonely, he never slept here. This is just mine. Well, mine and Ruby's. Now when I lie awake at night I'm thinking about all the stuff I'm doing wrong as a widowed mother, and wondering how I am ever going to get us through this in one piece, or worrying that I am so broken and damaged there is little hope that I will ever be capable of loving like that again, or being loved for that matter. But at least I'm not thinking he should be here next to me. I'm just wishing for that, and that's different.

I still can't get rid of the socks.

I gave several of his sweatshirts to his parents and siblings, and the rest I boxed up for the kids. Bill was almost never without a hooded sweatshirt. His balding head was often chilly and I have a mental image burned into my mind of him walking around the house with his hood up.

But I cannot get rid of the socks.

Most of his t-shirts were sent off to a good friend who is making quilts for each of the boys several months ago. A lot of his dress clothes got donated to Goodwill and the shoes that I didn't give to my brother also got donated. I boxed all of his cycling clothing up for the kids to have as they get older.

The socks remain.

I don't know what it is about the socks. I am just not ready to let those go yet. I can't even stand to open the drawer and look at them for very long. He was always so anal about his socks. They had to fit perfectly and because he had small feet (he wore a men's 8.5), he often bought socks from the juniors section. He would pull them so tightly over his feet because he didn't want ANY room left in the toes. It would drive him crazy when I would walk around with mine, slightly lose in the toes. He would buy his in bulk, because he went through them so quickly. All that tugging to get them to fit snuggly and just right caused them to develop holes fairly quickly. I tried to point out, several times to no avail, that if he just bought socks out of the men's section, they were actually sized to fit a range of sizes and his shoe size was actually in that range and that maybe if he bought those he wouldn't have to pull and tug so much, thus causing him to go through them so quickly. He would have none of it.

And now, Owen is the same way. He is so anal about the way his socks and shoes fit, and what type of cut his socks are. It is maddening. Bill is most definitely getting a good laugh out of watching me try to negotiate with a very stubborn 4-year-old.

So the sock drawer remains full. Maybe Owen will inherit them one day, as he has already shown signs of inheriting his father's stubbornness, his speed, and at 4 years old that kid has some serious quads.