Today wasn’t my finest.

I was curt with the customer service rep. I avoided a conversation with the older lady bagging my groceries. I drove too closely behind someone on the way home. I didn’t ask my wife about her day.

I’m ashamed of all of it, but I can explain.

My grandmother started sending care packages way back when I was in college. She’d include snacks, cans of soup, chocolates, the standard fare. In order to fill out the boxes she’d put in packs of sponges, instead of using packing peanuts or newspaper.

She was quirky that way.

This practice continued into my 30s. As she got older she also became more generous with the care packages, making them larger and sending them more frequently, which necessitated more and more sponges. 

“Grandma,” I complained, “I’m literally drowning in sponges. I can’t use them fast enough. I have dozens of them piled up in the cabinet!”

“I suppose that’s your problem,” she said.

Last year, in March 2020, my grandmother passed away. 

It happened just two weeks after the first pandemic lockdowns, so we couldn’t visit beforehand or be there in her final moments. We had no funeral and no closure. My grandfather couldn’t even accompany her in the ambulance, getting the news she died via a phone call from the hospital hours later.

Today in the middle of doing dishes, I threw out a sponge that had finally worn out, and reached into the cabinet to grab a new one. But there weren’t any left.

It took a year, but I finally ran out of sponges. And for the first time in 15 years, I had to buy one.

I didn’t even know where to find them in the store.

The customer service rep had to point me to the correct aisle. The bag lady joked about bagging a single pack of sponges. I rushed to get home so I could finish the dishes in time to make dinner for my wife as she ended her work day. And we ate quietly while my 9-month-old son, who will never know his great grandmother, tossed food on the floor.

Food I’d need to wipe up.

It wasn’t anybody else’s problem that I was in a bad mood, nor would it have made sense to explain it to a stranger in a grocery store.

But today reminded me that everyone, and I mean everyone, is fighting an internal battle. We’re all just doing our best to get through the day. And it’s often the tiniest things that have the greatest impact on our behavior.

I’m grateful the customer service rep didn’t roll his eyes, that the bag lady didn’t mutter something under her breath, that the driver in front of me didn’t flip me off or slam on his brakes out of anger, and that my wife didn’t call me selfish.

They were each gracious in their own way, on the day I needed it most, and for the silliest of reasons.

If grandma were here, she would have said, “You’re upset about what? Give me a break.”

Life is sometimes unbearably difficult and unreasonably cruel. Let’s all give each other a break.