I got teary eyed today as I pulled out the frayed towel from the dryer and folded it.
I know it probably isn’t politically correct, but I love to clean house and cook. Decorating is my favorite thing and organizing closets is a close second. The two chores I don’t like so much are grocery shopping and washing clothes.
I have tried to learn to like them and I am honestly grateful that I have access to fresh food and have the money to buy what I need, as well as having my own washing machine and dryer right in my house where I can wash anything anytime I want.
I am grateful. I still don’t like it.
I dislike it enough that one of the first chores that I gave my son once he was past the “pick up your toys and make your bed” stage was to wash his own clothes. I know it made him more independent and taught him a valuable skill, but really I taught him so I would have less laundry to do each week.
When Jon went to college, he pretty much came home every weekend. He loves our church and wanted to attend with us, but he also would bring his laundry and work on it while he was here.
When he graduated from Alabama and moved back to Birmingham, he pretty quickly got a job and an apartment of his own. Praise be to God! The apartment came with a brand new washer and dryer since Jon was the first one to ever live in this fancy new space. He still came to church most Sundays and would stay for lunch, but he could do laundry any time he wanted at his place.
He only stayed in that apartment one year, finding that all of the amenities he was paying for really didn’t get used like he thought they would. His next couple of apartments didn’t come with washer/ dryers so he was back washing his laundry at our house after church on Sunday.
When he bought his own house about 4 years ago, there was a lovely little laundry room and he was excited to buy his very first washing machine and dryer. Whenever we discussed going to pick out a set, something else always came up. When he asked for a set for a birthday or Christmas, some other gift was wanted more.
So here we are 4 years later and his laundry room holds some old clothes and a few boxes as well as a vacuum, but there was never a washer or dryer in there. Coming to our house on Sunday morning to start a load of clothes before walking together to church has become our family ritual. After church he would transfer the first load to the dryer and usually would start load number two before helping me cook lunch.
Somedays he would have extra things to wash or be running late and not start this task until after church. On those days, Jon and his dad would stretch out after lunch to watch a NASCAR race through their eyelids or discuss the game from the night before while another game played in front of them.
Often times I would slip away to read or write and leave them to their father- son time.
Occasionally Jon would mention getting a washer, but it became less and less of a thing. Having Jon with us for those few hours was something I didn’t want to give up, so I quit mentioning it as well.
Jon is getting married. He and his fiancé have found a lovely house with a very nice, convenient laundry room near the kitchen. And she owns a washer and dryer.
For the next couple of weeks they will be packing up their previous homes, preparing to move to their fancy new house. For a couple of more weekends Jon will come in with his laundry hamper, fill the washer before heading to church with us. For a couple of more weekends I will fuss at him about the frayed towel that is threadbare and faded. For a couple of more weeks, my water bill will be higher and the sound of the dryer will make our lunch conversation just a tad bit louder.
Jon had to meet his future bride to look at some furniture after lunch today, so I decided to take his clothes out of the dryer and fold them, moving his last load from the washer to dryer. As I folded his thin, shredded towel I realized that I would not have that privilege much longer.
It really isn’t the laundry, it really isn’t the towel. I hope his new wife makes him still do his own laundry. I hope she has the influence to make Jon put the old towel in the rag heap. I hope that I don’t have to smell his running clothes again as he sweeps through the kitchen with his dirty clothes hamper while I finish up my Sunday breakfast and watch Meet the Press.
I also hope that he knows how much I enjoy talking to him as folds his t-shirts. I hope he realizes that it has been an honor to walk to church with him discussing the movies we saw during the week or the latest TV show. I hope he knows that holding his hand in my left hand and Tim’s in my right as the minister sends us forth at the end of the service is one of the happiest parts of my week. I hope he knows that although he will have a washer/ dryer, a big house and a new wife, he is still welcome to burst in with smelly laundry, movies to discuss or to walk to church with us for as long as he lives.
For one last time I folded the beat up old towel. If I hadn’t pulled it from the dryer myself I would question if it had even really been washed. But I know that it makes him happy. That it makes him feel a tie to his past and it is comforting in this world of constant change to have that same old towel that someone gave him for a high school graduation gift over 14 years ago.
I fold it so the monogram shows, the initials of a boy when first embroidered, the initials of a grown man as I lay it on top of the other laundry in the basket.
I will never enjoy doing laundry, but in this moment I am especially glad that I have a washer/ dryer and that one last time I can do this for my child.
