A Letter to our Garbage Man

Dear Mr. Garbage Man,

The other day, I forgot to put the garbage out until I heard you drive down the street. I ran outside, half dressed, only to watch as you passed. I wasn't wearing my glasses, but judging by the way you backed up at full speed and slammed things around, you weren't very happy. This was confirmed when I came out an hour later, and found the garbage can thrown onto the sidewalk.

Two months ago I would have gone back into the house, called the garbage company up, and complained about your lack of customer service. I would have crazily justified my outrage by explaining that my house is being torn up, and I can't find anything except piles of laundry. That I pray in front of my washer, because even though the Sears repairman just visited, the machine still only works sporadically.

I would have whined incessently because although I somehow fit 80 hours worth of work into each week, poor revenue forecasts at the state have put everyone in jeopardy. So I'm having to fight to maintain employment--and just thinking about looking for a new job makes my stomach upset.

I would have also told whoever answered the phone that my husband is deployed, and that my kids miss their dad. I miss him too. Mostly his company, but also his help around the house. I would have tried to express that sometimes I can't function at 110% with the constant, overwhelming knowledge that my best friend is halfway around the world, in a not-so-friendly place.

But this isn't two months ago, and I didn't call the garbage company. In fact, I didn't even get angry at the mud on my clothes after picking up the can.

Instead, I found myself wondering if perhaps you too were going through tough times at home, worrying about your job, or finding yourself lonely during quiet moments throughout your day.

So while I'm sorry I put you off schedule, I'm grateful for you showing me how much I've grown up over the past few months. Next week, I'll remember to put the garbage out on time.