text: “Yes, Mary, I’m in front of her house now. God, who let the yard get like that? What happened to the swing on the porch?” I said into the phone. “You know what? Maybe if you were around when she was alive, you’d have been able to see the yard was a mess. Maybe you would have seen how run down the house has become. Jesus, Heather, what did you expect?” My sister replied through hissed teeth. I could almost hear the capillaries in her neck popping through the shitty reception. “Okay, whatever. Can you just tell me what I’m here for?” “If you were at the reading of her will, you’d know. But mom told me to be very clear and concise with you. She left something in a blue box in her closet. Next to grandma’s fur coat.” “Who gets that coat, by the way? Always loved it. Would be so precious to wear, you know?” “It doesn’t matter. You were only left one thing, and one thing only. That. Blue. Box. Find it and get the fuck out. None of the family even wants you there, but mom said she insisted.” “Fine, I get it, God damn. Bye” I said as I hung up. Marry can be such a bitch, ‘NONE OF THE FAMILY WANTS YOU THERE’ I said out loud in a mocking voice. We used to be so close, her and me. God, when’s the last time we even talked? 5 years? Maybe 6? I lit a cigarette and rolled down the car window. When’s the last time I was home? Probably the last time I saw mom in person. 15 years almost today, just a week short. But I’m not counting. I throw the cigarette out without taking a single puff. What a waste. I walk up to the porch. It used to be painted white, but now it seems a mix of rustic wood and white flakes. The porch swing was hanging off of one side, its left chain length pulled out from the top. It looked pathetic, as if hanging on what was left of its purpose. It used to be a good, sturdy swing. When I was younger, I could jump on and off it without so much as a creak. The storm door was wide open, its spring long ghost gone. I remember when it broke, that was a horrible storm. I can still see mom holding one of those 72 hour candles. It was so funny to see her slender fingers wrapped around that humongous hunk of wax. We used so little of the wax by the time the lights came back on, it was then a 71 hour candle. We never seemed to use it again after that. The front door was unlocked. Not that the dead bolt would have held anything, that door catch is so worn I barely had to push on the handle before it gave way. The hinges groaned open and the sun behind me peeked into the house with me. My silhouette casted against the ground and half way up the wall. My eyes adjusted to the light and I glanced at some family photos. Nothing has changed in the home since I left. It was odd walking through the home knowing mom was dead. I never really found this place inviting, but even still, I got goosebumps thinking of it. I walk through the entryway, closing the door behind me. There was enough light coming through the windows that I didn’t need to turn the lights on. I can remember when mom used to get mad about us leaving the lights on in unoccupied rooms. That practice sure carried over, as even today, I will make sure the light is off. I walk through the Kitchen and into the living room. Every piece of plastic covered furniture was exactly where I last saw it. Mom was always so stuck in her ways. Once she found something that worked, it stayed like that until it broke. There’s that gaudy beaded lamp. I can see that lamp so clearly in my head when I close my eyes to go to bed. I don’t know why, but that lamp burned a hole in my retina. It was that day I told mom about... my girlfriend. That I liked girls. The echoes of that night still bounce around the walls of that room. That was the last night I was home. 15 years ago, almost. Minus a week. Today. But I’m not counting. Jesus, I was 17 years old, mom. Why did you kick a 17 year old out? How could you have kicked your own daughter, ME? How could you have kicked me out? Being in this room pisses me off. I’m getting my shit and never returning. I hurry over to the stairs to ascend them. I instinctively skip the 5th step, because it creeks. I don't want to wake up- A dead woman? My dead mom? Was I still scared of making noises at night? Sneaking out with whoever I was destined to spend the rest of my life with that week? I push past the cobwebs, both mental and physical. There are a lot of cobwebs up here, holy shit. I turn on the light in the hall. Her door stood at the end, right in the middle of my room and Mary's. This door was always off limits when we were kids. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve been behind this door, with permission of course. Inside mom’s room, there was the bed, night stand, her dresser and a small desk where she did her makeup in the morning. I can still smell her Aquanet clinging to the air. She was probably the sole cause for 10 percent of the ozone being depleted. She always had such perfect hair, of course. How could she face the world without her best face forward? There’s the closet. An accordion style door with a delicate little clasp. I push the clasp up and the door opens itself slightly. It honestly made me jump a little. I still have this childish anxiety that I’m not supposed to be here. Pushing some Avon boxes aside, I can see into the back of the closet. Hung up on a solid wood hanger, that I’ll add probably cost more than my first car, was my grandmother’s fox fur coat. It has been neglected for far too long, as the moths have found refuge in its folds. It was full of holes and ragged. I push the coat aside delicately for fear it would disintegrate. Behind the coat was the blue box I was foretold. What could mom possibly have inside it that she would go out of her way to write it in her will? I tucked it under my arm and backed out of the closet. I’m not opening this here, too heavy. I walk out of the room and into the hall. The dim light was flickering slightly. Almost by muscle memory, I push the dimmer up and down just right to keep it steady. I walk forward and my hand brushes against my childhood room’s door handle. This is already a pretty heavy day, might as well peek into my old room. I push the deep brown door open and feel the hanging mirror sway. I flipped the lights on and drank in the room's scenery. My God, nothing has changed. It’s exactly how I left it, 15 years ago, a week from today. I’m not counting. The pink bedspread, the band posters, my little desk with graded homework from high school, are still all there. It was almost unbelievable how much it felt like I went back in time. It took my breath away and made me grieve for my nostalgia. My head was spinning and I sat down. Forgetting the box, it crashed onto the floor from under my arm. The lid of the box flipped off and the only thing in the box was an old photo and a letter. The photo was of me and mom. I was maybe 7 years old. I was wearing a Dora the explorer bike helmet and had a wide smile full of missing teeth. Mom was cheek to cheek with me, smiling warmly as the sun swept her perfectly formed hair. I could see the remnants of a purple something around my lips. It was summer, and we looked so happy and carefree. I picked up the letter and read it. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx *Dear Heater,* *I know that where we are today, in our relationship and as I write this to you, is not a good place. Those years ago, I know. I know what I did. I am so very sorry. You were my daughter. You were a piece of me and I acted in anger. I was confused and wrongfully felt betrayed by you. If I could go back to that day, to any day before that, I would hug you. And hold on to you. And beg you. And grasp and pray and oh God Heather. Please forgive me. I love you so, so much. I know what I said was unforgivable. But please Baby Heath, my sweet, strong and courageous daughter. Forgive me.* *If you are reading this, it means I have passed away. I’m sure that is good news to you. I don’t blame you.* *Just know, if I could go back and take back everything I said. I would. In a heartbeat Heath, I would.* *Love mommy. <3* Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx My hands shook and at some point, the page had gotten wet. I was crying and sobbing. Without control, I was grasping the paper so tightly that it wrinkled. I picture that this silent room was waiting for me. As if a bitter hug from beyond the grave, I could feel myself in that picture. A warm motherly embrace. Oh God, mommy. 15 years. A week from today. You were counting, weren’t you? I was too.