That day I was wearing a pair of greenish brownish eyeglasses. That night, after I came home from work and told Steve about the meeting that ended in a firing, Steve dubbed those glasses my "angry eyes."
Years later, when Steve was fighting the Damm Spot, I would wear my angry eyes to medical appointments. We would joke that my angry eyes would scare the tumor right out of Steve's head.
As my prescription has changed, I've had the lenses for my angry eyes and my other two pair of glasses changed.
Lately I've had trouble with night vision. Driving after dark has been a little dicey, as I don't have good depth perception. So, I visited my eye doctor (the same doctor who fitted me for my first pair of glasses in 1984) this week.
My prescription has changed again, and I was prepared to pay for three new sets of lenses.
The optician encouraged me to look at new frames. She helped me choose a really cute pair. But buying a new pair PLUS replacing lenses for three old ones is awfully pricey. I was trying to decide what to do.
The optician waved toward the angry eyes and said they were a little dated. Maybe I should just retire them.
Oh, the unexpected grief triggers. The very nice optician had no clue why I started to cry. I filled her in briefly, apologizing the whole time.
See, I know it's totally irrational to cry about not wearing the same glasses that I wore for years. I have memories and photos of the angry eyes. Steve, of all people, embraced change. He encouraged me to try new things, new styles. He would have no expectation that I hold on to every little thing.
But he also would have understood my tears.
In the end, I chose to buy one new pair of frames and one new pair of prescription sunglasses (something Steve always pushed me to do, though I never did). And the three old pair of glasses, which I've been wearing since Cooper was a toddler, will be retired.
I'll find a special perch in my room for the angry eyes.
|Steve and me with my angry eyes, December 2008|