Scott, like many of us, had neglected his teeth for a period of time during his young adult life. He was also a heavy smoker and a coffee drinker. That meant that as he matured and endured extensive dental work, he changed his tune about taking care of his teeth. He became a dental care fanatic and would espouse on the benefits of flossing. One of his favorite pieces of advice to dispense to his step children was “Don’t forget to floss. It adds years to your life.” When Brian would prepare to leave for an important gig or a date, I’d be saying “drive careful” “call when you get there” and Scott would be saying “Don’t forget to floss before you go!”

While this was joke among us, Scott was serious about flossing. When we went on our Friday night dates to the grocery store he would often say “Let’s pick up some floss. I could use some more.” We never picked up one pack, always two. I put some in his Christmas stockings and of course, he also received a trial pack at every dentist visit. And, thanks to that earlier neglect, those visits were often. He visited the dentist every three months for cleanings. He was never in danger of running out of floss.

When Scott passed away, I faced the floss collection on the back of the sink every morning and then the bigger collection in the medicine cabinets. There had to be over a dozen containers of floss in our home. I told Brian we should make it a point to become routine flossers in Scott’s memory, using up all the floss that Scott had left us. In my mind I thought “When the floss is gone, my grief will be under control”. It gave me a way to quantify how long the grief would last, it gave me a goal to look towards. In my mind I figured it would take just about a year to use up all that floss. That seemed reasonable for the grief as well.

At first, the floss went quick. Some containers were only partially full. A week of use and they were gone. I started with the smaller, trial versions first. I think it gave me a sense of power to finish them off. I certainly was doing a lot of grief work as well – I felt somewhat in control by doing all the right things and checking off items as I navigated through the necessary tasks that a widow has to attend to. The small containers emptied so fast I even started to get worried that the supply was only going to last a couple of months. I wasn’t prepared for things to move quite that fast.

Then I started on the larger containers and the progress seemed to grind to a halt. I also found myself not flossing as I got angry with Scott. I couldn’t bring him back, I couldn’t yell at him for dying, but I could stamp my foot and not floss. Flossing was important to him – If it was so important he should be here, telling me to floss. If flossing was so important in adding years to life, why wasn’t he still here, right? So, the containers of floss emptied slowly. My progress on the grief front slowed down to. After 6 months, I got busy outside our home with friends and activities, classes and work. Some days I didn’t even address my grief at all.

It became more complicated as fall turned into winter. I started cleaning out closets, cabinets, and containers. I started finding floss in all the wrong places…in the pockets of suitcases, in toiletry bags, in a drawer, in a coat pocket, even in the console tray from Scott’s truck. The man was like a squirrel – hiding floss in every nook and cranny. The collection of floss expanded back to the original number of over a dozen. Well, grief was like that too. It hid, waiting for me, in the unexpected places. I would be going along fine, having a pretty good day, when I would see the Norris truck and totally lose it. I would be out having dinner with a friend and hear a special song in the background and start crying. I’d get frustrated with something at work and my first instinct would be to call Scott, only to realize I couldn’t text or call him. I’d feel paralyzed and totally lost. Just like the amount of floss amazed me, my grief threatened at times to overwhelm me as it came crashing back time and time again.

It’s been 14 months now and I think I have found all the floss. What is left of Scott’s stash is what you see in the pictures. It’s still a pretty big supply for one woman. I know it’s going to take a while to use it up. I continue to get frustrated with how deep the grief can be some days. But I am determined to work through that grief, one day at a time, one memory at a time, several tears at a time. And I am determined to use up all that floss. One strand at time, one container at a time. I do believe that when the moment comes that I throw the last bit of floss away that I will be in a different place mentally, that I will be able to think about Scott and our times together in a happier way, with joy rather than tears.

The point is simply that grief is like this stash of dental floss; you can’t predict how long it will take to get through it. Just when you thought you have done away with it, you find more. You can ignore it but it only piles up and doesn’t make you any better off. But if you make a habit to face it on a daily basis, in the end you will be stronger and healthier.