Everything

When Mark and I became empty nesters, we had an agreed upon split of evening chores. I always got home before him and so I’d make dinner, and sometime between Chris Hayes and Rachel Maddow, Mark would clean up the kitchen. Mark was a constant whistler, and no matter where I was in the house I knew when he was cleaning because I could hear him whistling. He’d load the dishwasher, put the leftovers in containers, hand wash the pots, and wipe down the counters. If he was feeling really ambitious he’d mop the kitchen floor. The last thing he’d do is get the coffee ready for the morning so that it was brewed and ready as soon as our alarm went off.

Since he died those things have become my duties. I don’t cook very often these days so there isn’t much to clean in the kitchen. The times I have it lacked the joy and purpose that Mark brought to the job, and there definitely isn’t any whistling. When I had made something in the crockpot and let it sit a few days, the crusted remains stayed put. I tried soaking it in hot water a few times without much luck. Mark would have taken that as a challenge and wouldn’t have given up until he had scrubbed off every bit of hardened chili. My method was different. After a few days of aggravation and half-hearted trying I gave up and took the whole crockpot outside and dumped it in the garbage.

Now I make the coffee every night before I go to bed just like Mark used to, albeit a much smaller pot. After a few weeks it seemed to me that the coffee grounds shouldn’t be in a cabinet on the other side of the kitchen but next to the coffeemaker. Mark would have admired the efficiency of this move and likely would have told me, “Kath, this is so brilliant,” a few dozen times.

It was one of those dumb things that neither one of us had ever thought to do before but that made more sense. Nothing about this life without Mark does as loss permeates everything.

You can even taste it in the coffee.