Brown Socks (about grief)

Yesterday I was looking for something in my closet and out of nowhere I found a pair of my husband's brown socks. They were tied together the way he taught me to do it. I used to roll them up the way my mom taught me, but once he said he couldn't tell which socks were which and asked if I would just fold the tops down together, so that you could actually see the sock. I've done it that way ever since. But here is a tidbit about grief. You never know when it's going to sneak up on you. They were tucked up on a high shelf between some magazine racks and my CD carousel, now that half my closet is serving as office storage.......and when I found them I just grabbed them and held them to my heart. What is it about shoes, and socks? They have that mountain of shoes in the Holocaust Museum and it is so powerful to stand there and look at it. They were clean except for closet dust. Have they been up there all this time? How can I have missed them when I cleaned out the closet and put in all the office supplies? I can't figure it out. I put them to my face. They are a really soft pair. What the heck, I'm wearing them. So I put them on and walked around the house. He doesn't need these now.
That is how grief is. It hits you when you are not expecting it. And often when you are expecting it to hit you, you don't feel it as much.
I have a lot to say about grief. But not now.