My mother paid for a storage unit for nine years after my father died, and I thought I knew why.
Grief makes people keep strange things.
Dad’s coffee mug stayed beside the sink. His jacket hung by the back door. His work boots sat on the mat like he’d only stepped out to check the mail.
So when I found the storage key after Mom died, I expected fishing rods, old tools, and maybe Christmas lights she couldn’t face without him.
Grief makes people keep strange things.
Instead, I opened that metal door and found shelves full of boxes.
But every box had my name on it, then crossed out.