The Gray Bucket

Every week, Linda maneuvered herself in the door from the garage carrying mops and a gray plastic bucket filled with cleaning supplies, while the dogs raced to greet her. She’d bend down to hug them as they leaped with joy, showing more excitement than when either my husband or I came into the house. She was their pet-sitter, too, and worked magic with them. The picky dog ate for her and the older one willingly submitted to eye or ear drops instead of hiding under the bed the way she does for us.  

Linda cleaned our home and cared for our pets for 45 years. She was a constant I took for granted. She’d tell me when it was time to polish cupboards, wash windows, or clean woodwork. She was there when we buried our parents and when we buried our pets. She and her daughter deep cleaned the property owned by my family for four generations before we put it up for sale. She was there when I spent a semester at home recovering from major back surgery. Through all those years, I never saw her stop for lunch or take a break.

In recent months, Linda struggled with health issues but kept on coming. Running the sweeper and climbing stairs exhausted her, and it took her most of the day instead of a few hours to clean our home. I encouraged her to leave when she felt tired, but she’d insist on cleaning the house from top to bottom, no matter how long it took.

Earlier this summer, Linda called to say she had just been released from the hospital, and the doctor told her she had to quit working. She was nearly in tears. I reassured her that it was ok, that I knew this was coming and that I was working on getting someone else.  I told her how worried I’d been and that I was relieved  she was finally taking time to care for herself and grateful for all she’d done for us. I told her she was in our will.

It feels like a family member is gone. When someone empties your wastebaskets for that many years, it creates a deep and personal intimacy. Every week we caught up on what was happening in each other’s lives. I miss seeing yellow sticky notes on my counter reminding me to pick up supplies or letting me know the sweeper needed a new cord. Piles of damp mop heads and smelly rags no longer rest on top of the washer waiting to be laundered.  

Our new cleaner moves quietly and efficiently through the house in half the time it had been taking Linda. No time is wasted in idle chat. She doesn’t use that battered gray bucket Linda hauled around because she brings all of her own supplies in a handy little two-sided carrier and takes all the rags and mop heads along when she leaves. The dogs are friendly with her, but I swear they’re looking for Linda every time there’s a knock at the garage door.

Today I finally got around to emptying that gray bucket. I removed half-empty bottles of Windex and cans of Endust. I found an assortment of attachments for vacuum cleaners we probably no longer own and a bunch of wrinkled cleaning rags that somehow got jammed at the bottom. I found one of Linda’s unopened water bottles. Even though that old plastic bucket was stained and had a tear at the top, I couldn’t bring myself to throw it in with the recycling. I rinsed it out  and left it to dry in the sun. I’ll find a use for it.

Sometimes the humblest of objects reminds us of the care and love we’ve received from another person.

Thank you, Linda.