I reached for the first box. I hesitated for a second before I opened it.
I’d passed it dozens of times.
Inside were letters, dozens of them, all handwritten.
Each one was labeled carefully in Lily’s neat handwriting.
- “Open when you can’t get out of bed.”
- “Open on your birthday.”
- “Open when you’re mad at me.”
- “Open when you forget what my voice sounds like.”
My vision blurred.
At the very top sat a small recorder.
Each one was labeled carefully.
I picked it up, my fingers shaking so badly I almost dropped it.
For a second, I just stared at it. Then I pressed play.
“Hi Mommy… if you’re hearing this, it means I didn’t get to stay as long as we hoped.”
It was my daughter’s voice, clear, gentle, and so familiar it hurt.
The sound of it hit me like a wave.
My breath caught in my throat so hard I thought I might pass out.
I sank to the cold floor, covered my mouth with both hands, and cried:
“Oh God, Lily… what have you done?”
The sound of it hit me like a wave.
***
I don’t know how long I sat there.
At some point, I realized I couldn’t do it alone.
I pulled out my phone and called the only person I knew would come without asking questions.
“Judy…” My voice broke. “I need you. I’m in a storage unit that Lily put together.”
“I’m on my way,” she said immediately. She didn’t hesitate.
My sister owned a small salon across town and could come and go as she pleased.
It didn’t take long.
I realized I couldn’t do it alone.
***
When Judy walked into the unit, she stopped in the doorway.
“Oh, honey…” she said quietly.
I shook my head, trying to speak. “She… she did all this…”
My sister stepped inside and pulled me into a hug. I held onto her as if I might fall apart again if I let go.
“We’ll go through it together,” she said.
And we did.
***
We opened the second box.
“Care Plans” was written across the top.
