Saturday, September 4, 2010

67 Boxes in the Attic

On an August afternoon, nearly eight months after my father passed away in Connecticut, a moving van pulled up to my house in North Tacoma. Two men unloaded sixty seven boxes and carried them up to the attic.
There they sat untouched for weeks because four days after I received the boxes, I lost my mother.
It is now September.
It is time to start going through the boxes.

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