It’s the strangest things. The tiny things no one would even think about. This is why grief just seems to ambush you over and over out of nowhere…and everywhere.

Every single time I put on polarized sunglasses I think of him. One day we were fishing in the Florida Keys, both wearing sunglasses, and he said “Look at all of those fish under the water.” I couldn’t see anything but the glare of the sun off the top of the water. He said “You can’t see all of those fish? Oh, wait…here…try these” and he handed me his polarized sunglasses. Suddenly I could see fish teeming just beneath the surface and I was kind of shocked that I’d been missing so much. Sounds silly, I’m sure, but I had never really known the difference. I’ve never bought a pair of sunglasses since then that were not polarized. And I’ve never not thought of him when I put them on and see the world so much more clearly than I had before him.

And now my life is polarized. Two entirely different lives…before and after. But the vision of it is no longer polarized because the glare of grief is too strong to see a darn thing.