Gemotions

The scent of lavender, her mother’s favorite, clung to the pages. Sarah had found the boxes while cleaning out the guest room. Within the boxes was a treasure trove of her own past. She could feel the tremors in her hands as she opened the first folder.

She ran her fingers over her childhood handwriting. The childish scrawls, the messy drawings, the stickers – each item a tiny piece of her. Each reminder of her mother’s careful attention, her unwavering love. The world began to tilt.

She picked up a drawing, a crayon depiction of a family trip to the zoo. Her mother had written on the back, “My little artist.” She crumpled it in her fist, then quickly smoothed it out. The paper felt so fragile. She closed her eyes, trying to recapture the feeling of being held, of being safe. Her breath hitched. The loss was a living thing, a constant weight.