“Get your belongings off MY lawn before I call the police!” My DIL claimed to have inherited the home when my father died away, so she tossed all of our possessions out on the yard! When my kid arrived a few minutes later, karma struck her hard.

I had been digging through decades’ worth of memories in moving boxes when Dad’s lawyer phoned about the will reading. I contacted my son, Matt, and requested him to come instead of me as I couldn’t face the lawyer’s office.

“Yes, Mom,” he said. “Are you certain you don’t require assistance in organizing Grandad’s belongings?”

I said, “Thanks, but I’m getting by.” Later today, I will pick up his possessions from the assisted living facility. Please let me know if there is anything particular you would want to remember him by when you stop by this afternoon.

I had no doubt that the will reading would be straightforward and devoid of any shocks. How foolish I was.

The scent of antiseptic and a hint of withered flowers filled the nursing home, tightening my throat. As a young nurse gave me Dad’s possessions, which were carefully wrapped in a simple, battered cardboard box, I drew a reassuring breath.

The nurse remarked, “Here you are, Ma’am,” in a soft but aloof voice as if she had said it a hundred times.

As I raised the package, I nodded and said a silent thank you.

Even though it wasn’t heavy, I felt as if it was pressing down on me. The modest items were inside: a few mystery books with dog-eared pages, his favorite old sweater, and a little Bible with a tattered cover from years of usage.

As I ran my fingertips over the sweatshirt, I detected a little but recognizable hint of his fragrance.