Friday, January 22, 2010

ode to your toothbrush


If the toothbrush holder is a reflection of the household occupants, people would think that we were the perfect family of four. A girl, a boy, a mommy, a daddy.
All of our toothbrushes stand huddled together in the cup. As I sit on the toilet, I imagine that my toothbrush is staring at yours, begging yours to come back to life. Your toothbrush stares emotionless ahead. Like one of those soldiers in Britain with the big fluffy hats.
I irrationally despise the arrival of our new toothbrushes at the prescribed three months. It seems to mark a measure of time that has been lost since you died. I get tired of your toothbrush. I will it to change somehow.
I have stared so closely at the bristles pondering the bits of dried toothpaste embedded there. I've wondered if there is enough DNA to clone you upon its' head. I've mused about what pieces of food are trapped within its' plastic spikes that comprised your last meal. I've weighed the likelihood of my loss of mental health and mulled over the thought that maybe all widow/ers think these bizarre thoughts....over a toothbrush.

15 comments:

  1. I love this post. I too can get a bit obsessed about my deceased spouse's, Michael, toothbrush. It sits there everyday, keeping my toothbrush company. I pick it up occasionally, gently glide it across my lips, and try to feel him come through this connection. It makes me feel insane.

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  2. this is my blog about my husbands toothbrush. Now I know that I am not crazy and I am not the only one obsessed with the little things


    His toothbrush

    After Donnie died, I couldn’t bring myself to even take his toothbrush from the holder on the sink. For months it stayed right there next to mine. I couldn’t believe something so simple could be so difficult to get rid of. It was 3 ½ months before I was able to take it out of the holder. And even then, I couldn’t bear the thought of throwing it away so I put it in the bathroom drawer. I know , it’s crazy. But I just couldn’t bring myself to throw it out.
    Yesterday I was cleaning the bathroom and I came across his toothbrush. I sat there and held it in my hand tracing my fingers over the handle and thought of him and all the times he held that LSU toothbrush in his hands. I thought of all of the mornings that we shared the bathroom as we brushed our teeth and got ready to go to work. I remembered how many conversations that we had in that bathroom while we were getting ready to go somewhere. I thought about how lonely it is now without him here. I sat there and held that toothbrush for what seemed like forever, wondering, what do I do? Here I was sitting on the floor in my bathroom, struggling with throwing a toothbrush away. My mind was telling me “It’s only a toothbrush” but my heart was telling me “but it’s Donnie’s” . I thought of how ridiculous it was that I was sitting here struggling over throwing away such an inanimate object. But as unimportant as a toothbrush may seem to most people, it’s a baby step in the most difficult challenge that I face everyday. The challenge of letting go and trying to move forward with my life.
    With tears in my eyes, 7 months after Donnie passed away, I took a deep breath and dropped his toothbrush into the trash.

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  3. I've been here, and have thought the same things! You are not alone in this!

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  4. I've thought about the DNA thing too- I saved a piece of my husband's hair for that exact reason. Thank you for sharing- I cling to every entry you and the other bloggers share.
    Connie H.

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  5. Does cologne count? Or how about the ginourmous bottle of Cool Mint Listerine that Eddie last used two and a half years ago?

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  6. My husband died 13 months and 1 week ago... and his toothbrush still sits beside mine in its holder. In tears a few weeks or months (I can't remember which) after he died, I picked up his toothbrush and brushed my teeth with it, and I cried, and it didn't feel like a kiss, but I wanted it to. It doesn't make me feel insane, I just can't bear to get rid of it.

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  7. I remember finding my huband's chapstick. Every night before I tried to sleep I would put that chapstick on and pretend I was kissing my hubsband and feeling his lips on mine, willing his DNA to make it so. I did that till there was nothing left of that stick.

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  8. I can relate soooo well to your 'toothbrush' blog. I have been widowed 8-months, and My Rick's toothbrush still stands in the holder next to mine. At times, I will hurriedly toss my toothbrush into it's place in the holder, and it will end up resting 'nuzzled' against his... and I always stop, smile, and think something silly like 'ohhhh, even our toothbrushes are in love'... The sink still holds his mouthwash, the shower his shampoo, the medicine cabinet his cologne and deodorant (along with every other toiletry he placed there before he died)... And, I too, recently found his chapstick and began using it just to 'have his lips pressed against mine'... I am dreading the day it is all used up.

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  9. I did the toothbrush and the chapstick thing too! I also had a t-shirt that he'd worn right before he died. I didn't wash it and slept in it every night. I was heartbroken when it didn't smell like him anymore.

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  10. I can not believe there are so many people out there who are just like me. I am so glad to know that I am not crazy. I just hope there is no time limit on things like the tooth brush Its been 4 month and one week and I still have his wiskers on the sink. I dont evern use that sink anymore its like I want to preserve it. I am glad to know it is OK to haved loved your husband more then life it self.

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  11. My husband passed away just before Christmas, (9 weeks ago)and i'm having such a difficult time remembering his voice already. Have others had this problem? And will I remember it again after all the shock?

    Anonymous

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