All the Feels
Ode to Grey Socks
Grey socks, grey sock how warm were you
Grey socks, grey socks until my toe poked through.
Grey socks, grey socks you must go in the trash
Grey socks, grey socks all the tears I will dash.
Farewell grey socks, I bid you adieu
You will always be remembered as trusty and true.
Jude came home from school, took off his boot, and asked me to look. His entire big toe was pushed through the end of his grey sock. I responded sympathetically, nobody likes to have toes pushing through socks, and suggested he throw the socks in the trash.
In the mayhem that is settling into home after school it took me several minutes to realize that Jude was sobbing, distraught for the fate of his socks. Pulling him in for a hug, I breathed a quick prayer for wisdom.
On the surface, it’s a pair of socks and Jude’s response was overblown. But running under all the excitement and anticipation of this adventure is grief. We are letting go and saying goodbye to so much. Some inconsequential, like wellworn grey socks and some much more meaningful like people and places we hold dear. For an almost five year old, it has to be overwhelming. Heck, for a thirty eight year old it IS overwhelming.
The gift of each day, each moment – God’s grace on full display – is the wherewithal to be present to the grief when it bursts through the surface. To talk candidly and affirm the lament that walks with the anticipation. And sometimes to write an ode to a dirty, old pair of grey socks.