Postcards of Grief

Mourning is a process.

Comments on breast cancer by proxy, written by a woman coping with the loss of her mother.

Tuesday, September 07, 2004

Is nothing sacred?

Not my towel. Not my toothbrush.

For too long, I've had to take precautions to prevent my bathtowel from being used to dry off another's body. It's not that I'm squeamish or overly clean. I don't mind if a member of my family needs to use my bathtowel to dry their hands. Once or twice is no big deal. But an entire body? This happens whenever my brother and SIL stay over. The linen closet is right outside the bathroom door, and it's not as though there's some kind of towel deficit. I've taken to hanging up my towel on a doorknob or over the back of a chair in the room in which I sleep.

Who uses someone else's bathtowel, anyway?

And as for my toothbrush, I've tried everything. There's nothing more disconcerting than going to brush your teeth, only to find that the brush is already wet. Brooke and I have both intended to tend to oral hygiene and found our implements wet and used in another's mouth. To avoid this, I've used a toothbrush engraved with my dentist's name, kept my toothbrush in a drawer, and used a plastic cover over it. This weekend, I went to use my toothbrush and saw that the cover, which I had so diligently replaced on my toothbrush after prior use, was resting on the countertop.

It looks like the toothbrush will have to hang out with the towel in my bedroom.


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