Shopping

Shopping, grocery shopping in particular, is difficult. I see so many of Colby's favorite foods on the shelves. Recent favorites as well as favorites from years gone by: chicken and dumplings, string cheese, canned ravioli, diced tomatoes with green chilis, soft French bread and hummus, frozen "cardboard" pizzas. I push the cart down the aisle and reach to pull one of the items off the shelf, then remember Colby is not here to eat it. I bite my lips. I haven't yet gotten through a trip to the grocery store without crying. Today will not be the day.

I'm not sure why I am here. At the store. I have a pantry full of food I haven't eaten. May never eat. Shopping for groceries is a routine, normal, mundane thing we all do. Maybe that's why I am here. To be normal. But, of course, that will never be. My world will never be "normal" again. It will change, it will evolve, I will learn to live in it, and someday I probably will even be happy. But will I ever feel normal, the same, again? No. My child is gone.

I reach the checkout counter and even though I have half a cart full of food, decline both options: paper and plastic. Both use the Earth's resources unnecessarily. And besides, I don't need them. I brought a box. It's an old box, corners frayed, one side beginning to tear, but it will work for today and maybe for the next few shopping trips, although I have enough food to feed an army, so not sure when I will return. Colby was adamant about recycling, about not using what we don't need. As I head to the parking lot, I look at the box in my cart and almost, but not quite, smile. I will remember my son and I will remember, and act on, what he stood for. Always.