Tonight we went to the Container Store to buy a new order cart for our new helper. Briefly... when Michael packs orders, he uses the cart to gather the leather and findings and then to mark a small card to include with each piece of the order. The cart was (as in - used to be) low and made it painful to be bent over all day.
The replacement cart is high, which would make writing and measuring easier - but it's made of metal - like a baker's rack. We looked at different sizes of carts with different options. One cart had a wooden top, but it wasn't high enough or long enough (it has to be long enough to accommodate a yardstick). Another cart was high enough and long enough, but it was all metal and it needed a solid top of some kind.
This kind of stuff was Greg's forte. He was THE best problem solver. If we needed a piece of wood for the top, he would have make us exactly what we needed - even if it wasn't what we asked for (yes, that makes me laugh). It was always interesting to see what he'd come up with. We could count on it being ten times more elaborate than we expected, but always great (or almost always).
While Michael was discussing options with the nice man from the Container Store, I was thinking about how much I miss Greg - and of course, I started to cry - not sobbing or anything - just... like... you know... crying. It wasn't a category 5 grief storm. It was more like a sad-shower - or maybe even a sad-sprinkle.
The sorrow just hits me - and I don't know how to prevent it. I'm doing the best I can. To continue the weather thing (the weather is on all of our minds today with Irma), most of my days are cloudy with scattered sad-showers. Some days are partly sunny with a chance of sad-showers. I haven't had a really sunny day yet.
We ended up with the tall cart that was all metal. Joe, the Container Store guy, found us some flexible plastic things that fit on the shelves. It's not the solution Greg would have chosen, but the plastic pieces are easy, inexpensive, and they seem to work.
I missed talking about it with Greg. I miss his input. I miss his creativity. I don't think I've had a day without tears since Greg died. I don't know if I ever will.
I miss my sweet son.
The replacement cart is high, which would make writing and measuring easier - but it's made of metal - like a baker's rack. We looked at different sizes of carts with different options. One cart had a wooden top, but it wasn't high enough or long enough (it has to be long enough to accommodate a yardstick). Another cart was high enough and long enough, but it was all metal and it needed a solid top of some kind.
This kind of stuff was Greg's forte. He was THE best problem solver. If we needed a piece of wood for the top, he would have make us exactly what we needed - even if it wasn't what we asked for (yes, that makes me laugh). It was always interesting to see what he'd come up with. We could count on it being ten times more elaborate than we expected, but always great (or almost always).
While Michael was discussing options with the nice man from the Container Store, I was thinking about how much I miss Greg - and of course, I started to cry - not sobbing or anything - just... like... you know... crying. It wasn't a category 5 grief storm. It was more like a sad-shower - or maybe even a sad-sprinkle.
The sorrow just hits me - and I don't know how to prevent it. I'm doing the best I can. To continue the weather thing (the weather is on all of our minds today with Irma), most of my days are cloudy with scattered sad-showers. Some days are partly sunny with a chance of sad-showers. I haven't had a really sunny day yet.
We ended up with the tall cart that was all metal. Joe, the Container Store guy, found us some flexible plastic things that fit on the shelves. It's not the solution Greg would have chosen, but the plastic pieces are easy, inexpensive, and they seem to work.
I missed talking about it with Greg. I miss his input. I miss his creativity. I don't think I've had a day without tears since Greg died. I don't know if I ever will.
I miss my sweet son.
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