Finding Leftover Love
Grief will never not be shocking, but time keeps passing.
“It really fits you,” she said, subtly looking me up and down.
It was 7 pm. I had nothing to do. I’ve traversed what feels like the majority of my New York City neighborhood blocks, so with the open evening, I headed somewhere still unknown to me. The sun was sinking behind skyscrapers, the air settling into a perfect 75 degrees.
I remembered that I needed mascara, so I walked into a Sephora.
I didn’t have the energy to debate my options and just grabbed the tube suggested to me. One earbud in, I approached the checkout counter.
The woman looked up at me, scanning the box and nodding to the screen in front of me.
“Would you like to enter your phone number for points?”
I punched in my cell on the credit card terminal.
“Have you shopped with us before? It doesn’t look like you have an account.”
A sudden dread washed over me. I wanted to roll my eyes. I’ve created a web of complicated credentials that I do not want to keep track of. An administrative nightmare.
“Could it be under a different number?” she asked.
A sharp feeling shot down the middle of my chest. My heart rate quickened because really, I already knew my number wouldn’t work. With each digit, a thought rose higher in the back of my mind: I usually use my mom’s phone number at Sephora.
My mom died a year and a half ago.
On my first foray into makeup, she took me here. I was probably in the 8th grade – finally allowed to wear mascara. At age 14, she suggested I just give them her name. She already had an account. It’s always been this way.
These memories flashed before me, grief involuntarily striking me down at a random Sephora in Chelsea.
“I’ll try a different number,” I said, my hand hovering over the same keypad.
Swallowing a sinking feeling in my stomach, I reached into the back of my memory, dusting off a number that no longer connects. On the sixth digit, I started to panic.
What if I don’t remember my dead mom’s phone number?!
It felt like a test of my own keeping in touch.
“2-9-2-4,” I muttered under my breath, finishing what felt like a herculean task.
“Elaine?” she smiled.
I nodded. I hadn’t heard my mom’s name said so confidently in a long time. The sound bounced off the counter, holding none of the weight of what happened. It echoed like she was alive.
I looked down, absorbing the sound, shielding myself from further connection.
As if in slow motion, the sales rep leaned over the counter and said, “I thought your name was going to be something else, but now that you say it, this one really fits you. Beautiful.”
My jaw dropped. What inspired her to make a random comment like this? What do I do with it? I rushed to the door, pushing into a sidewalk buzzing with bodies.
The world rarely makes room for your loss, but eventually, you’ll realize that the form of your days has grown around it. That you’ve gotten used to the gaping hole. That you don’t call your mom’s phone anymore.
Recently someone reflected back to me, “It will never not be shocking.”
It’s true. But time keeps passing. And I keep finding leftover love stored in different accounts.
Even in the form of beauty discounts.
Sending love,
🛍️ Things I’ve Liked Lately
The mascara I bought (I also recommend!)
Want this bandana wrap skirt and the matching top.
Are you a size 7? I found these amazing flats on eBay.
Eyeing this trench with a colorful collar.
Ideal lace trim shorts for fall – imagining with a chunky sweater.
The toothbrush recently added to my “worth the money” list.
Happy cord heart necklace I saw in store recently.
A new favorite hair tool for perfect blow-out waves.
Wearing these flats into the ground – they’re holding up despite being woven!!
🛋️ In Case You Missed It
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A mothers love never leaves 🩷😘
Wow, what a touching story 🫶🏼