The Smell of Dog Pee Pushed Me On

I begin to clean my room. 

The room I have occupied since my wedding night. 

The room I have not cleaned since before the accident. 

Piles of stuff. 

Dirt. 

The smell of dog pee. 

I know it’s in there somewhere. 

Yes. 

It’s gross. 

And that’s what I have been living in. 

I can barely begin to clean. 

I can’t stay focused on anything. 

I try. 

I have help sometimes. 
A friend who is quiet and gentle comes to be by my side. 

We clean or organize and then it seeps in again. 

I hate living like this. 

So I begin. 

In my room. 

I have piled letters, cards and books. 

From so many. 

I don’t want to part with them. 

Some I do not even remember receiving. 

Book after book. 

Slowly, I begin to read the words sent to my family. 

It is overwhelming.
Even two years later, I find it hard to believe. 

I feel the fog descending. 

I focus back to my task. 

I clean the books. 

I re-pile them. 
I press on. 

I vacuum and put away clothes. 

I start to make a pile to throw away, to give away. 

It feels good. 

Layers of dirt and grime. 
Removing that awful smell. 
Being cleaned. 
I sort through envelopes. 
The programs to Elijah’s funeral. 
More books on grief. 

I keep cleaning. 
I press on. 

Living with grief is not easy. 
The loss of a child threatens to pull you under at any moment. 
But all of life is like that. 
Unless we surrender. 
I keep cleaning. 
I press on. 

As I clean I can’t help but think of the shed blood of the lamb. 
The cleansing that was done, Once, for all. 

How wonderful it feels to have a clean house. 

How greater still. 
To have a clean, redeemed soul. 

Happy Cleaning. 

Psalm 51:10
Create in me a pure heart, O God, 
and renew a steadfast spirit within me.