It is no secret that my least favorite chore is doing the laundry. It's never done. As soon as all of the clothes are washed, dried and put away, there are more loads to do. Or if you dislike it as much as I do, there are A LOT more loads to do. I have been putting it off for a week. I told myself I was too busy. Too much going on. Which is just a bad excuse, when isn't there too much going on. More important things to do. Again, there are ALWAYS more important things to do than the laundry. So I finally tackled it yesterday. Got most of it done, and some of it put away. Later last night I got around to the loads of only my clothes. The ones that need to be washed in cold water, some of them hung to dry. And as I put the clothes in the washer I realized with a sudden cold clarity why I had been putting it off. At the bottom of this particular pile was one of my favorite sweaters.
My grandmother, Mazel English died last week. Well, over a week ago now. She broke both of her arms before Thanksgiving, had surgery on both, was in the rehab/nursing home place and we all hoped she was going to get strong enough to go home. She didn't. There were other complications, but she developed an infection that took a great toll on her body. The last week in the hospital was hard. She could communicate a little until the last day. She nodded and shook her head and occasionally smiled. And then she stopped. My sister was here (she lives about 3 hours away). She thought Gramma's head looked uncomfortable so she asked me to hand her the small pink pillow on the shelf. I handed it to her and we used it to prop Gramma's head up a little. Her face rested against the soft material for her last day in this world. The small pink pillow that wasn't a pillow after all, but my sweater. And there it was. In my laundry basket.
One more reason that I don't like laundry.