At lunch time the day before Christmas Eve, I stepped out of my front door and noticed yet another flat tire. I could see the nail poking up from the tread, so it was at least fixable. Good things: I noticed it early enough in the day when the place was open for business, I was at home instead of at work, I own an air compressor that lives in Brigid, the weather wasn't terrible for me to be out there inflating my tire, and there are a few places to eat around the tire repair place. Within an hour and a half it was all sorted, lunch included.
Shortly after returning home I could hear an intermittent beep in the distance. I knew from experience it was a low battery alarm - it had to be the garage smoke detector. I grabbed my trusty ladder, found a new 9V (that was just pure luck), and replaced it. Things I might have stressed over in the past - no biggie, I can handle it. All was well until I noticed the fingerprints on the garage ceiling - those are Mark's proof of life. A reminder that he was the last person to change out that battery.
Two days before Christmas is a tricky time to be reminded that I am still here, without my person. Four Decembers without him - and every December from now on. So, yeah, triggers still pop up out of nowhere. And I truly don't want to write every blog post about my loss. Because I'm also counting on better days to also come out of nowhere.
