To Remember

Slam! Click.

The door to my car closed and I turned to make my way up the drive. I honestly hadn’t been here in years, I had barely remembered the broken stone steps that led to the bright red doors. I took the key out of my pocket and slipped it into the lock. The door creaked open with a push. I looked around this dark empty house. Mom And Dad had come by with the moving truck the day before to collect the furniture. The last reminders that this house had once been a home.

My parents had done most of the work. They had only given me the job of clearing out the clothes. A job that I had procrastinated for about a week now. But that’s not the point. The point is now I have to go through all that stupid laundry by myself. Figure out what to keep, donate, or trash. I sighed and turned toward the bedroom door.

The bedroom was the brightest room. A large bay window to my right let a lot of sunlight in, which was a good thing because the utility bill hadn’t been paid and I really didn’t want to sort clothes in the dark. 

The door to their closet was on my left. It opened silently and two mothballs fell to the floor. I brushed them away with my foot and started to dump clothes on the hardwood floor. 

First, were the shirts, and honestly? It was just as boring as I thought it would be. A purple shirt here, a yellow shirt there, a golf shirt with a rip in its sleeve. Can’t donate that. I tossed it to the corner. Then something caught my eye. A bright pink shirt. A bright pink shirt with a hand employed flower in the center. And as stupid as it may sound, I remember that shirt. I remember running through the forest behind their house and getting caught on a branch. I remember crying to my grandma about how much I loved this shirt and I remember how long it took her to sew that flower to cover up the stitches.

I laughed silently as I traced the blue petals with my fingers. I think I’ll keep this one. I put it into its separate pile and continued to separate.

Next was pants, I pulled out a large box of them and separated. Nothing out of the ordinary until I got to the jeans. Every single pair was stained with dirt and grass stains. I turned and looked out the bay window towards the garden. A neat little place filled to the brim with vibrant flowers. I knew they liked to garden but these pants were filthy! Almost as though they had spent every single weekend out in that garden. And, now that I thought about it, I think they had. I couldn’t remember a single time I had gone to visit them where they had not been outside enjoying the sun. But regardless, these just couldn’t be cleaned. I set them aside to be discarded. 

After about an hour of going through all of their clothes, I had cleaned out the vast majority. The only things left in the closet were a couple of boxes. I stood on my toes and pulled out the first box. A bright yellow shoe box and took off the lid. It was filled to the brim with these bright scarves. Some perfect for winter, but most of them were light scarves used to tie up someone’s hair. I pulled out one and held the blue scarf in my hands. It was covered in butterflies. I remember this scarf. I had personally tied it in my hair when I had asked for something to play with. I remember taking out all of the pots and pans and “cooking”. Telling everyone that “I’m grandma!” I remember her laughing.

God her laugh.

I dropped the scarf and closed the lid. I put this box next to my flower shirt and turned towards the closet. I silently took out the next box. A large square black box. And I gasped as I removed the lid.

It was a uniform. A military uniform. I had forgotten grandpa was in the military. I removed a hat and looked at the shirt. Quite a few colorful patches sewn to the chest. I remember sitting on his lap, wearing that hat as he told me stories about his time in the army. The people he knew, the friends he lost. We both knew I couldn’t understand. we both didn’t care.

And now there was only one box. I lifted it from the shelf and gently laid it on the floor.

With shaky hands, I removed the lid.

And then I lost it.

There, sitting in this forgotten box, was a wedding dress.

Grandma had passed away a year ago. I hadn’t seen her since I was twelve! For seven years I hadn’t paid her a single visit. Sure there were letters, birthday cards, and Christmas presents, but not once in seven years had I seen her! When she had died at the beginning of this year I had seen grandpa. I talked to him and we went to the funeral together. Yet I barely talked to him. I could have asked him to tell me about her, about him! He could have told me so much! There was still time!

But now there isn’t.

And I’ll never get to know where grandma learned to sew, why they loved to sit in their garden, where grandma had gotten all those scarves, why grandpa had enlisted, or how beautiful she had looked on their wedding day.

I stumbled through the house. My body shook with my cries as I ran out the door. Not even bothering to lock it behind me. I slammed the door of my car shut and just sobbed in the driver’s seat.

I can’t.

I just can’t.

Someone else is going to have to finish the laundry.