My husband has a ridiculous wife. I mean, really. Who else do you know who weeps when she’s sorting nuts, bolts, washers, and screws?

A few weeks ago we came home from Mom’s house with a truck full of Dad’s tools and hardware. With the exception of the assorted parts, Dave has integrated it all into his own shop. This last weekend he spent a considerable amount of time sorting parts, organizing and reorganizing them into those little plastic drawers of his. Dad had sorted most of his parts into plastic boxes with labels on the sides: 8s, 6s, spacers, etc. A couple of the plastic boxes that came home with us weren’t sorted at all, everything was tossed in to be sorted later. So, yesterday I helped by sorting one of those mixed up boxes into sizes and types of parts. I put the 6s in one box, 8s and 10s in others, and sorted them by type of widget while I was at it, screws, bolts, washers, whatever.

And part way into doing this I remembered the last time I’d sorted parts. I was either in late high school or in college. It must have been either spring break or summer, because I spent the whole week helping Dad out at the office. And this entire week I spent sorting out the 6s and 8s of various washers, spacers, nuts, etc. All day, every day, for a week I sat there removing the 6s and 8s, and putting all the other sizes back in the bin. It must have been “clean-up week” between a couple projects. Dad was there organizing things, too. We were in his fourth floor shop, surrounded by drill presses, table saws, belt sanders, and saw dust. Lots of saw dust. And all these crazy parts in peanut butter jars, plastic boxes, bags.

I’m telling you, after a week of sorting, I learned to easily tell the 6s and 8s from any other size of hardware.

So, I’m sitting there in my own garage. Set up with a folding table and chair, Dad’s box of assorted stuff, several empty boxes to sort into, dirty fingers because you can’t sort hardware without them, and tears streaming down my face.

Ridiculous.

But see, though Dad’s still alive, he’s no longer himself, and never will be again. And sorting through his hardware brought it all to the forefront again. Like typing this up has done.

And yes, the tears are streaming.

But at least my hands are clean and I have a tissue in grabbing distance…