My Socks

1 min readApr 12, 2022

(Dec 24th 2019)

When I took my mother to the hospital the week before she died, I tucked a pair of socks and a sweater in my bag. I knew we’d be there a minute. I knew she would be freezing.

She refused them both until she didn’t. Hospitals eventually feel like refrigerators. I pulled out the sweater, but the socks were missing.

I surreptitiously took my socks off and slid them on her tiny, icy feet.

A few minutes passed.

“Are these your socks from YOUR feet?” She asked. I nodded.

“Can I ask you another question?” I nodded.

“Why don’t young people give a shit when their socks don’t match? It’s insanity provoking.”

“Oh, woman just shut up and say thank you.”

She reached over and squeezed my hand.

I just looked down. These are my socks. And these are my thoughts.

Grief is my side hustle




Meghan Riordan Jarvis is a trauma and grief-informed psychotherapist, speaker, educator, writer, wife, and mother of three.