The last box, I muttered as I added it to the pile at the curb. I waited for the feeling of closure all this was suppose to bring me.
The difficult year, had culminated in the death of my mother. Mixed into the heavy burden of grief was the inescapable feeling of being abandoned. It had always been the two of us against a cruel world. Now I would have to face it alone
A biting wind stirred some papers, strewing a handful down the sidewalk. Another mess to clean up. I stooped to pick up a sealed envelop, yellowed by time and worn as if handled often over the years. My hands trembled as I turned it over and saw the decidedly masculine writing. “To my daughter, Madeline”.