I spent Saturday clearing out my mother's house. My truck bed was already full of stuff for the donation center.
In a box of old school things, I found my third-grade science textbook. Inside, a yellowed sheet of construction paper.
A crayon drawing of our family. Stick figures, the sun with rays, a lopsided house. Five kids, all different heights. Mom was the tallest.
Tucked into the same page was a spare button in a tiny plastic bag. From my first winter coat, I think. She saved everything.
I ended up calling a rideshare to get to Goodwill. The driver said this was his last run of the night, he was headed home.
He asked what I'd been up to. I told him I was letting go of my mother's house. He nodded. 'Hardest work there is.'
I kept the drawing. I kept the button too. But I let the house go. She wouldn't have wanted me to live in the past.