Piles of Memories

It's silly, really. 

When Jason is gone, I leave his piles laying around. 

These are the same piles that I sigh at every time I see them when he's home.  I mumble as I pick them up and fling them in the laundry room, closets, or drawers.  They're uniquely him though.  A habit that I can't break him of, no matter how much I complain, beg, barter, threaten.  So over the span of ten years, I've simply learned to live with them.  After all, in the scheme of things I'd rather have his piles laying around and what they represent on so many levels than not. 

Seeing a small pile of him is a reminder that he's a part of our daily lives even when he's not here.  It makes him more real.  With them laying around, he really could just walk through the door at any minute after a long day at work (and in the process create another pile).  If it's his clothes, they smell like him.  If it's his army gear, it's a reminder of our life together as a military family. If it's a pile of flight gear, it's a reminder of how proud I am of his achievement to become a pilot.  If it's a pile of bills, well, I'd rather not deal with that.  But you know what I mean.

So I leave the piles around as long as I can.  I sigh as I pick them up in anticipation of company arriving in his absence.  And then I gently lay the clothes in the laundry basket, where they'll remain dirty and waiting for his return.  Only once he's back home do I wash them. 

It's silly, really.  But it's a small token of my "I miss you, Love."