"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." So began Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities, and so describes the night I had.
My son and I were enjoying a rainy night in the hot tub after dining on the couch watching Back To The Future (the trilogy was on sale at Target for under $23). I thought to myself, does life get any better than this? I know it does, but not much.
After the pump shut off twice (40 minutes) it was time to get out. "Dad, where's my shoes?" Sure enough, both our pairs of flip flops were gone.
While we were lounging in the tub, he had come into the tub enclosure and taken all 4 of our shoes. How many trips did he make to do this? I found all four of them in a corner of the lawn he likes--chewed to pieces.
I can replace my son's for a dollar or two at Walgreen's. Mine cannot be replaced. They were my brother's. It's been a few years now, but still I think of him whenever I put on those leather sandals. Same when I put on my jacket--his jacket.
I don't need reminders. I can remember him any time I want to. But it's not the memory, it's the touch, you know? He loved those shoes, wore them everywhere. He loved that jacket--looked good in it, too. When I put them on now there's more than just a mental memory. There's something to the touch.
I lost part of that tonight. And I ache.