One half eaten apple wrapped in re-used foil.
One small steamed pudding with brandy sauce, both solid as a rock.
One chunk of gorgonzola buried deep within the fruit drawer.
One Ziploc bag of soggy salad, dressed with precious balsamic vinegar and olive oil over a week ago.
One piece of bacon, not wrapped or even on a plate, laid purposefully on top of the eggs.
One container of sliced fruits: oranges, mangos, kiwi, apple, all waiting for your breakfast oatmeal for the last two weeks.
Speaking of oatmeal…
One small Ziploc of oatmeal, made your extra special toasted in the pan way, that you said you would reheat before you left.
For three weeks, I watched you slice, and chop, and bake, and try to please. Your hands just slightly shaking as you wrestled with the dried figs until you finally gave up and used apricots.
Reveling in the glory of feeding others, a luxury you don’t get at home.
In years past, those little baggies and half-wrapped apples would have been the cause for argument. I would have thrown them away when you were out of sight. You would know just where you had put your soggy salad and look at me accusingly when you couldn’t find it.
This year, I learned to laugh at what you couldn’t overcome. Habits from the Depression that have lasted your lifetime.
Silly. I’m crying.
Each of those little parcels represents a piece of you. Pieces that feel like they are disappearing too fast. It feels wrong to put them in the trash.