The Significance of Dryer Lint
Posted by Shelli Altopp Miller at 1/26/2010 9:17 PM 
Categories: Relationships, Shelli Altopp Miller
Tags: Grief
Categories: Relationships, Shelli Altopp Miller
Tags: Grief
I had a most cathartic experience with dryer lint once. I was telling a co-worker about it today in hopes of comforting her. She is grieving the loss of her father-in-law. She thought she was further along in the grieving process when something she saw today caught her off guard and stirred up a fresh wave of tears.
It took a long time to grieve my Grandpa Altopp's death. He was of a slight build but mighty in personality. Grandpa had a tattoo eons before they were cool. On one hand he had three fingers; the other two were cut off by a saw while he was working at a mill. He picked them up, put them on a shelf, and kept working. He sang in public and cried when he gave his testimony of how he was "dried out on a mountain top", meaning he was saved at the Hebron Colony in the mountains of North Carolina and never touched alcohol again. He and I spent concentrated time together in the dugout during baseball season, especially during the spring break trips to Florida with my dad's teams. He loved the game and was well-loved by all the players.
Grandpa died several years ago while I was a graduate student in St. Louis. It was the end of the semester and so there were papers to write, exams to study for, and Christmas parties to host and attend. His funeral was in Indianapolis on December 23. It was a whirlwind of family, grief, Christmas gifts, and travel, and ended all too abruptly at the start of my final semester.
Flash forward to the summer following graduation and a new job in Kentucky. I inherited Grandpa's washer and dryer. My in-laws picked them up in Indianapolis and delivered them to my husband and me in Appalachia. Before I washed clothes the first time, I opened the lint catch and started to weep. Grandpa always wore an avocado-green polyester suit to church. There on the lint catch was a cottony green fluff. It was a tangible bit of him! I stood cradling the dryer lint, crying, "Oh, Grandpa!" I considered saving it. I wanted to. I couldn't bear to throw it away. He died six months ago and here I am bawling like it just happened. It was bewildering. Eventually I realized I didn't need the dryer lint to conjure memories of Grandpa. His legacy is alive in me.
I think my co-worker understood. Grief has no timetable. Don't rush it or stuff it as I had done. I've never looked at dryer lint the same.
It took a long time to grieve my Grandpa Altopp's death. He was of a slight build but mighty in personality. Grandpa had a tattoo eons before they were cool. On one hand he had three fingers; the other two were cut off by a saw while he was working at a mill. He picked them up, put them on a shelf, and kept working. He sang in public and cried when he gave his testimony of how he was "dried out on a mountain top", meaning he was saved at the Hebron Colony in the mountains of North Carolina and never touched alcohol again. He and I spent concentrated time together in the dugout during baseball season, especially during the spring break trips to Florida with my dad's teams. He loved the game and was well-loved by all the players.
Grandpa died several years ago while I was a graduate student in St. Louis. It was the end of the semester and so there were papers to write, exams to study for, and Christmas parties to host and attend. His funeral was in Indianapolis on December 23. It was a whirlwind of family, grief, Christmas gifts, and travel, and ended all too abruptly at the start of my final semester.
Flash forward to the summer following graduation and a new job in Kentucky. I inherited Grandpa's washer and dryer. My in-laws picked them up in Indianapolis and delivered them to my husband and me in Appalachia. Before I washed clothes the first time, I opened the lint catch and started to weep. Grandpa always wore an avocado-green polyester suit to church. There on the lint catch was a cottony green fluff. It was a tangible bit of him! I stood cradling the dryer lint, crying, "Oh, Grandpa!" I considered saving it. I wanted to. I couldn't bear to throw it away. He died six months ago and here I am bawling like it just happened. It was bewildering. Eventually I realized I didn't need the dryer lint to conjure memories of Grandpa. His legacy is alive in me.
I think my co-worker understood. Grief has no timetable. Don't rush it or stuff it as I had done. I've never looked at dryer lint the same.
I want to point out a very significant aspect of this post. Grandpa Altopp was my father. When he was "dried out on a mountain top," he broke the cycle of alcoholism in our family. I was 3 years old at the time. My oldest brother eventually became an alcoholic and I recall sitting at our kitchen table while I was in high school and hearing my dad say, "son, you are worse than I ever was." However, the remaining 3 sons did not become alcoholics and none of our children or their children are alcoholics. Most scholars know that alcoholism runs in families. My dad, Shelli's grandpa, was in my opinion, a giant of a man!! This post brought tears to my eyes because, like Shelli, I have lived through this.
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