It started as a delight

 

It started as a delight.

When Jess was 4, she loved helping with the dishwasher. “I feel like a grown-up! I’m doing grown-up work!” she’d say, beaming as she carefully loaded silverware.

Of course, as she grew, that early enchantment faded. When it officially became her job to empty the dishwasher, it quickly became a daily tug-of-war. 

She hated being reminded, but she also hated NOT being reminded. She tried schedules, spontaneity, bargaining, avoiding, and theatrics. For all her brilliance, straight A’s, insight, and kindness, this one task baffled her. It was too small to matter and yet, somehow, too big to do.

The annoyance of our ongoing struggle over something this inconsequential stole more joy than it should have. Looking back, I wish I’d let more of it go. 

And then, on what would turn out to be her last morning, there were no reminders, no resistance, and the dishwasher was emptied. 

We had a fun, light-hearted morning together. I joked that it was SO AMAZING that I could put the dishes she was making directly into the dishwasher, and she warned that it might be better if I waited until she was finished. 

I teased that she hadn’t even made a mess. Also unusual!

She locked eyes with me and, with a quiet smirk, tipped a bit of matcha onto the counter. 

A mess I would have.

We laughed.

Now it’s my turn. The dishwasher fills and still needs emptying. I dread it. Not because it’s hard but because it’s hers. Because every clink of a clean plate reminds me she’s not here to do it, begrudgingly or not.

I’ve caught myself crying while unloading bowls. I’ve resented the machine, the cycle, the routine. I’ve wished I hadn’t made such a big deal out of it. I’ve wished it was STILL a big deal because it would mean she was here, rolling her eyes again.

Just yesterday, I asked myself: Can I transform this?

Can I stop dreading this one small task that now feels so loaded?

The answer might lie in remembering that once, the dishwasher was a joy to her. At four, it made her feel grown-up and important. And on that final morning, it gave us a connection.

Eventually, each mug I put away might become a moment to say, “Thank you, Jess. I remember.” And each spoon I return to its place, a simple way to honor my girl who made messes and jokes.

In time, the dishwasher will stop making me sad. 

I’m not there yet, but I’m closer than yesterday.