With a grunt of effort, I lifted the box onto the table, setting it down as gently as possible. It was heavier than I’d expected. Who would have thought a box of pictures could be so heavy my arms hurt? Then again, I wasn’t the strongest of people. With a heavy sigh, I pushed the box further onto the table and leaned against it. I took a moment to breathe. God knows I needed it. The past week and a half had been rough.
“Carol, did you manage?” My brother, James, poked his head through the doorway. There were bags under his eyes. His normally bright smile was shadowed and drawn. His dull eyes fell on the box on the table, and his smile grew tighter. “I guess you did.”
I flexed a nonexistent muscle. “You should have known these biceps wouldn’t let me drop a box.”
He huffed a laugh. It was barely there, but I counted it as a victory. James’ once ready laughter had dried up. He walked over, running a hand through his tangled, dark hair. “What’s in that one?” The note of curiosity was comforting, at least.
I peeled open the flaps to show him. “Pictures.”
“Pictures?” He reached in and pulled one out. It was hardly a professional image. A blurry thing made grainy by the falling snow. A couple of dark smudges that could have been trees. Shadows from dips in the snow. A reflective surface, a lake of ice. It was old, back from when pictures were black and white, and the only spot of color was the light blue frame. I swallowed hard at the sight. Carefully, James set the picture back into the box. His voice was choked slightly. “Is this all?”
“I think so.” I closed my eyes, forced down the tears that wanted to rise. My eyes burned despite my attempts. “You know Grandma. She loves – loved taking pictures.” I swallowed hard again.
“Yeah, she did.” He fell silent for a moment, resting his fingers on the box. His eyes searched mine. The dullness in them had been replaced by a glossy sheen. “Put this box in storage? Or do we throw it into the giveaway pile?”
I shook myself. Hold it together, a couple more hours at most. “I’ll take it home and go through it later. Think you can put it in my car?”
“I can.” He murmured. He hesitated, then reached out to wrap an arm around my shoulder, drawing me to him. “Thanks for coming.” His voice was a sandpaper rasp. “I couldn’t do this alone.”
“She was my grandma as well.” I mumbled. The burn in my eyes was more present. It took everything I had not to choke on the words. “I wasn’t going to let you sort through her stuff alone.”
He nodded, then pressed a kiss against my hair. Without effort, he lifted the box and walked out the door. I watched him go, swallowing hard. I could cry later in the privacy of my home. With resolute steps, I turned to the next box.
I pulled into the driveway of my house and stopped, fingers gripping the wheel hard. Numbly, I stared at the garage doors, the white panels. I needed to grab the remote and roll the doors up, needed to park my car and get inside before I well and truly broke down. I couldn’t. My hands felt frozen on the wheel. In my rearview mirror, I could see the stack of boxes James had packed away for me.
Grandma’s life tucked away to be sorted. Some of it would be given to charity, some of it would be thrown in the dump. Some of it would end up gracing my home, all those memories decorating my walls and shelves. No longer hers, but mine.
A sob rose, caught in the back of my throat. I couldn’t do this. Look through her stuff, separate them out, not when everything in the back of my car held some sort of meaning to her and to me. But it couldn’t hold meaning to her. Not anymore. She was dead, and I had to decide what would happen next with her things.
I wasn’t ready. I could never be ready for this.
Finger by finger, I forced my hands off the steering wheel, dropped them to my lap. Breathe. In, out, in, out, until I could keep the sobs down and could move without breaking. Numbly, I reached for the garage remote and clicked the button. The doors opened with a low hum, revealing the garage beyond them. I grabbed the shift, put my car in drive, and nudged myself forward. Darkness closed around me. I put the car in park and sat there, breathing heavily through my nose.
Just a bit more, a bit longer, then I could collapse. I took another breath and let it out slowly. My hand shook as I took the keys out, opened the door. My knees wobbled when I finally stood up. The walk to the trunk felt as if it took forever. Lifting the lid took longer and all my strength. Finally, the boxes were before me. My hands fell to my side. I stared at them for a long moment.
Home, I’d gotten them home. Did I really need to bring them inside right now? It felt like I was barely standing. There was no way I could pick up these boxes and bring them inside, much less go through them right now. I needed a break from the memories and the grief.
The trunk slammed as I shut it, and it was with shaky steps that I managed to get to the door, fumble it open, step inside. My house was dark and quiet. My breath echoed loudly in the silence. With a muffled sob, my knees gave out. I slid down the door to the cold floor. I pressed my hands against my face to muffle my cries.
I remembered that picture of the frozen lake. I wasn’t there when she took it, but occasionally, when I was younger, I would take it down from her wall and sit with it in my lap, staring at it. I would play games with its grainy image. The trees would be ghosts, the lake a glass eye. Or maybe the snow wasn’t snow at all, but a really up-close white blanket and the black shapes were stains. I could spend hours making up stories like this. And Grandma, she would sit in a rickety chair beside me and ask about what I saw, nodding the whole time.
I’d never asked her the true story behind the photo. My interest in that game waned over the years, and eventually, I stopped staring at the picture entirely. I wish I hadn’t. I wish I had asked about the true story because I would never know it now.
My breath whistled harshly through my teeth. My hands were damp with tears. The shakes had subsided. Breathing was still uneven, scraping against the back of my throat. “Grandma …” my voice trembled. I could barely hear it. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never asked about the story behind your photo, that one, or any of the others. I wish that I had. I wish that you were here now. I wish … so much. So much, Grandma.” Another shuddering breath, darkness as I pressed my eyes closed. A lone tear clung to my lashes.
“I miss you.”
The words fell into the silence of my house, as if smothered in snow.
About the Creator
Drake
Nothing will change if you don't take that first step forwards. So take it. What could go wrong?
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