The Sand Box
I cleaned out your sand box today. Toys faded and crusted, like what you see on the show Hoarders. I smiled as I held each cup, each shovel, each mold that you used to create masterpieces. How many hours did you spend, sitting in the shade of our trees, your toes digging in deeper to the cool sand. I wiped tears off of my face as I remembered the mountains you erected with your construction trucks. And then one day, it was the last. Too bored? Too big? Too cold? If I knew that day would be the ending, would I do anything differently? Even as I celebrate the pre-teen-you, my heart aches with sadness over losing the child-you. I wanted to memorialize each and every one of those little trucks. Place them on the mantel as an alter of days gone by. Instead, I placed them in a trash bag and put them on the curb. I wish I could go back to that last day and whisper in my ear, "One day, those beloved trucks will be discarded and you will place them in the trash. So,...