All The Little Things

The old couch in the corner starts to swim before my eyes. The dust filled air and the light filtering in through the old windows gives everything an aged yellow hue. I can’t believe we let Aunt Lou become such a packrat. We knew she was dying, but we couldn’t bring ourselves to prepare. She died almost a year ago and we’re still sorting through all of her things. The thought sent a jolt of pain to my heart. Almost a year and I miss her everyday. My mom said it would pass with time, but I still feel her absence everyday. I look up to stop the tears from falling knowing that if I start the garage will never be emptied. Everything that was fit to be given was claimed by Aunt Lou’s friends and our relatives months ago. All that’s left is the odds and ends that nobody seems to want. I know it’s all junk and most of it will need to be thrown away. But I couldn’t bring myself to do that. I can still feel her here amongst all of her things. How could I part with even one little thing if looking at it would summon her spirit?

Aunt Lou and I have always been close, our similarities started at birth. Our mothers both gave us flowery names that we fought tooth and nail to shorten. Louannie Roseanne Miller and Camellia Isabella Wright were kindred spirits from the start. She brought me to my first baseball game and she even taught me how to spit like the players. Mom and dad didn’t like the spitting part but they always let us play in the yard before dinner. Aunt Lou was my best friend and she always knew just what to say. As close as we were, I’m coming to feel like I didn’t know her at all. Every box is a treasure chest. Just yesterday I found a bundle of letters from Aunt Lou’s time in Europe. She lived there for three years before I was born. How could I not know that? Another box contained nothing but photos of babies Aunt Lou delivered as a nurse. She gave up hospital nursing when I was a baby but she still kept the photos. All wrapped in plastic with a name and birthdate on the back. Treasures from a past life.

“How’s it coming?” Mom asks as she opens the side door. “Lord have mercy it’s lit like a dungeon in here.” I turn back to her with a half hearted grin, “Not just yet.” I walk over and sink onto the couch trying to collect my thoughts. I love my mom, but she just doesn’t understand. Mom crosses the room and sits next to me. “Cam? Honey are you alright?” I couldn’t let myself cry, not again. “I’m fine Mom. Just trying to decide what to keep.” I stand up and walk to the stack of boxes in the far corner to escape her gaze. I can see my own pain mirrored in her eyes yet I can’t accept her embrace. “Alright,” she sighs. “Let me know if you need help.” With that my mom leaves me to my own devices.

I start rearranging the boxes, not bothering to look inside. I know Mom is hurting but it doesn’t seem to make a difference. I know that we should comfort each other but it’s like an invisible barrier. I can’t bring myself to get close to anyone. Since Aunt Lou died nothing else seems to matter. It’s like I’m floating around in a bubble, completely lost to the rest of the world. The only thing I can feel is the pain of being separated. Regardless of my determination not to cry I feel the tears sliding down my cheeks. Then a different box catches my eye. It looks cleaner and newer than the others. I gingerly pick it up and see that it has my name on it. Aunt Lou didn’t write a will of any kind. Though I hoped for it, I didn’t expect anything specific to come to me from her possessions. I carry it back to the couch wanting to investigate, but for some reason I’m afraid of what I may find.

Taking a deep, steadying breath I lift the lid to see which of her little treasures Aunt Lou left for me. I open the box and I see a little black book, so faded it’s almost gray. Underneath the book is an envelope. I open the book and instantly the smell of Aunt Lou’s perfume fills my nostrils. For such an old book I expected a journal. Instead, I see my own five year old face staring back at me. It’s a picture of Aunt Lou and I at my first baseball game. Underneath the picture is a letter. My hands shaking, I pick up that little black book and read eagerly.

“My Cam, I’m sorry I can’t be there to comfort you through this loss. You are my most precious treasure and the one person I couldn’t stand to leave behind. In my last days, you gave me strength to see all the little joys in life even as I was preparing to leave it. Now, it’s time for me to be your strength. I know you’re missing me as much as I miss you, but we aren’t apart. Death hasn’t separated us, it’s only made our bond stronger. This book as well as the other contents of this box will help see you through the darkest days. In this little black book I have written every moment that you made brighter for me during my years of sickness. In the envelope in the box you will also find a statement for a bank account that I had set up in your name. For every moment that you made brighter I set aside a single dollar. Our little acts of kindness add up Cam, just like the dollars. Use it to create some sunshine. In time, you’ll find the small joys for yourself again. Love, Your Aunt Lou.”

My sobs are so loud that Mom and Dad both come running in to see what’s happened. Mom holds me close and whispers comforting words to soothe me. Dad opens the envelope with the bank statement and his eyes fill with tears. Lost for words, he hands me the paper. At the top it states that this account has a balance of $20,000. At the bottom in Aunt Lou’s curly handwriting it says, “Life is made up of the little things. Find your sunshine and watch your treasures grow.”