Remembered: Cleaning House

Prompt: Think of a time that you “cleaned house.” Consider the subtext—we’re not writing about Windex here. We’re writing about relationships. Or feelings. Or a captured moment in time.

It's at this time of the year that I mourn a bit. Sorry if I upset anyone.


I finally made myself clean off the shelf in the closet one day a few years ago. I pulled everything that I hadn't wanted to see onto the floor. I opened the special box that I had purchased just for the occasion. I placed the tissue box next to me. Then I went through the pile, and I cried as I laid each item gently into the box.

The sonogram pictures.

The sonogram videotape, each tiny heartbeat visible, so fierce.

A small hand painted box containing a tiny hat and a small gold ring; a birth gift for a child who never saw it. I think that she would have liked that ring.

A silk rose, white. It was placed on my hospital room door to let the nurses know.

The birth/death certificate, signed by the doctor on December 9, 2003.

I placed all these painful memories in that special box, running my hands over them, reading them, touching them. As if I could turn back time for that moment and have it turn out differently.

Then I closed the box, but not my heart.