Shortly after my husband died, I woke to the sound of a garbage truck coming down my street on its routine early morning pickup. I usually dislike those noisy garbage trucks grinding away as they slam trash cans around, but now a sense of comfort washed over me. How strange, I thought, that such an ordinary thing helps me regain a sense of normality. My connection to the outside world was momentarily restored. I began to welcome trash days knowing that for a few moments, I would relax – something that had eluded me in those first months of grief. It was a small sense of relief, but with a noticeable impact.