#303 Collections
It was old and tattered; a memorial to the past, when times were perhaps simpler and either way you looked at it, they both were younger.
A plain cardboard box, held together by a couple of rubber bands barely hanging on to their stretch. It didn’t look like much, but the small items inside held a wealth of memories that could never be replaced. Woody’s weathered hands gently removed the top. Carefully removing the objects one at a time, he began to take inventory of the contents.
Movie ticket stubs. A few dried flowers from her wedding bouquet. The tiny hospital hat from their first-born. Programs from PTA’a and dance recitals and boy scout meetings. The last picture of the kids and Max. His final paycheck stub from the Boston City Police Department when he retired. Her ID tag from the coroner’s office with the title “Chief Medical Examiner.” He grinned at that one. She had fought Garret long and hard over that one. She didn’t want the position. Garret had been insistent she take it. In the end, Garret won.
Wedding invitations. Newspaper clippings. Birth announcements. A time-capsule of history collected in a small, ragged box. His hands paused over the last item.
Her funeral announcement.
The tears still came, even though it had been more than 10 years. Her passing was simple. One morning he woke up and she didn’t - her heart just gave out. For months after wards, Woody begged God to let his give out, too, so he could follow her. But God didn’t listen. For the decade that followed, Woody plodded on, getting through one day at a time, dealing with the children and the grandchildren.
Until now. The oldest child, a girl so much like Jordan that Woody swore his wife cloned herself, had decided that her father was too old and feeble to live by alone any longer. Woody wasn’t sure how one little stumble in the bathroom had led to this decision, but Claire was insistent and in the end he was too old and tired to fight it.
His clothes were packed up. His household goods, except for a few items, were sold along with the house he and Jordan had worked so hard to purchase. It was all gone now, except for the memories…
And the collection in the box.
Woody Hoyt
Crossing Jordan
390 Words
A plain cardboard box, held together by a couple of rubber bands barely hanging on to their stretch. It didn’t look like much, but the small items inside held a wealth of memories that could never be replaced. Woody’s weathered hands gently removed the top. Carefully removing the objects one at a time, he began to take inventory of the contents.
Movie ticket stubs. A few dried flowers from her wedding bouquet. The tiny hospital hat from their first-born. Programs from PTA’a and dance recitals and boy scout meetings. The last picture of the kids and Max. His final paycheck stub from the Boston City Police Department when he retired. Her ID tag from the coroner’s office with the title “Chief Medical Examiner.” He grinned at that one. She had fought Garret long and hard over that one. She didn’t want the position. Garret had been insistent she take it. In the end, Garret won.
Wedding invitations. Newspaper clippings. Birth announcements. A time-capsule of history collected in a small, ragged box. His hands paused over the last item.
Her funeral announcement.
The tears still came, even though it had been more than 10 years. Her passing was simple. One morning he woke up and she didn’t - her heart just gave out. For months after wards, Woody begged God to let his give out, too, so he could follow her. But God didn’t listen. For the decade that followed, Woody plodded on, getting through one day at a time, dealing with the children and the grandchildren.
Until now. The oldest child, a girl so much like Jordan that Woody swore his wife cloned herself, had decided that her father was too old and feeble to live by alone any longer. Woody wasn’t sure how one little stumble in the bathroom had led to this decision, but Claire was insistent and in the end he was too old and tired to fight it.
His clothes were packed up. His household goods, except for a few items, were sold along with the house he and Jordan had worked so hard to purchase. It was all gone now, except for the memories…
And the collection in the box.
Woody Hoyt
Crossing Jordan
390 Words