This week’s Friday Fictioneer’s prompt – hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
My gran was a hoarder. A gifted one. She believed everything had a purpose. To her family, what she stored in those shoeboxes and bags was somewhat abstract and generally the flotsam of life. However, Granny believed she kept objects of value.
Ma fretted that one day she’d have to empty those boxes and shelves.
“Where am I going to put it all?”
“Granny isn’t going yet.” Please, not yet.
“No, but neither is her rubbish.”
“It’s not rubbish. They’re mementos of her life,” I argued.
“That’s the problem, it’s her life.”
“Then perhaps we should make them ours, too.”