The others were making her do this. Said it was time, well past time. As if there was a time limit on grief. That after a set number of days, or weeks, months or even years, you could turn off the sadness like a light switch. A simple click and all sorrow and pain is gone, and your life can resume undisturbed.
It wasn’t like that. Nothing could take away that pain. Packing up all his belongings, wiping away all evidence of his life, could never erase his memory either.
They said they would help sort through everything with her, but they didn’t know what to do with any of it. They wanted to donate it, just give it away like so much junk. They might as well throw it all in black trash bags and dump it at the curb for the garbage trucks to haul off.
No, she would give his memories the respect they deserved.
Shutting the door behind her, she locked it so the others would leave her in peace. Boxes and wrapping tissue were laid out on the bed. A step stool stood in one corner so she could reach all the treasures lined up just so along the plate rail that encircled the room.
The desk where she worked was barren, bereft of textbooks and college rule paper. One by one she carefully packed academic trophies and certificates, tiny figurines of baseball bears and Christmas snow globes, photographs of happier days, and heirloom toy trucks. Each act deliberate, meticulous in its economy of motion. Slowly turning them over in her hands, imagining they were still warm from his touch.
As she placed each item in a box, reliving precious snippets of a glorious life, it was like burying him anew.
The last boxed filled, she unlocked the bedroom door and walked out. Leaving a life unfulfilled, packed away in four cardboard cartons.
A mother should never outlive her child.
Thin spiral notebook 
{swallows thickly} I was totally convinced she was packing her husband’s things–very well written!
LikeLike
Gulp! that was terrible and awesome at the same time.
LikeLike
This post reminds me of one I wrote about my own son a year ago. Heartbreaking. http://bloodymunchkin.blogspot.com/2012/04/ukiahs-birthday.html
I have to say, I’m a little upset that they main character still packed the boxes. She should’ve done what she wanted to do, leave everything unpacked if she wanted to. Because nobody else should dictate her own grief.
Also, judging from my own experience, it takes a lot more than four boxes.
Well done though. Great piece.
LikeLike
I can tell you from experience it’s not much different when a mother dies much too soon. The difference is you have more than 4 cartons. Very moving, Tara. Very…
LikeLike
I nearly cried.. Very well written…x
LikeLike
My heart dropped, so real. Beautifully written
LikeLike
I wondered throughout whether it was going to be spouse or son. Son then. So very sad, and so very accurate. One of the things my mother and I are dreading about cleaning out my grandfather’s house is the boxes with my uncle’s – Mom’s brother’s – belongings, the ones my grandmother packed up so many years ago.
LikeLike
ugh….so well written but oh my God, how awful to have to go through that, fictional or not.
My best friend died in a car accident when I was 22. His dad would come over to my house and he told me that he and his wife could only touch one thing or do one box of stuff at a time because it would make them physically ill.
great piece
LikeLike
oh No. No. No. No.
It was beautiful, the language was lovely and the emotion flowed out of this piece like water down a mountain. I felt like my hands were helping hers fill those boxes, touching each piece of his life.
but then the last line floored me and brought a pain to my chest. I guess that’s the point, that you touched me, moved me even as my first thought was “please God, don’t ever take them from me.”
LikeLike
I had to change it from what I originally wrote because it reminded me too much of my kids, and it creeped me out a little.
LikeLike
I think any parent reading this (and it was wonderful Tar..it truly was) would be affected by it.
at the end of this mother’s day weekend it hit a bit too close to home for me but you’re exquisite writing does that…so yes, it was good, excellent, but spurred a quiet prayer from me all the same.
LikeLike
I can SO relate to this – although our little girl never took a breath, seeing to her burial by myself was as painful a thing as I have ever done. Giving away the baby stuff was hard, too.
LikeLike
I can only imagine how heart-wrenching that loss can be.
LikeLike