The Things We Leave Behind

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I lost a lot of my toys in the summer of 1984. That was the year my parents bought a house in preparation for the arrival of my little sister. I was sick during the move and spent most of that time on my Grandma Sprague’s couch, secretly happy to miss the hard labor involved with such an event. I couldn’t wait to get home and find everything “magically” moved to our new home.

I have no idea why I wasn’t worried about what I might lose. In fact, it took years to really figure it out. Even now I sometimes find myself remembering my childhood and thinking, “I wonder whatever happened to that….” Then I remember. I had never moved before, so I didn’t fully appreciate the steps of packing one’s belongings. After watching my husband weed through my daughter’s toy pile during our own recent move, I am thinking I probably lost more things than I originally thought. Continue reading