As I would soon learn myself, cleaning up what a parent leaves behind stirs up dust, both literal and metaphorical. It dredges up memories. You feel like youre a kid again, poking around in your parents closet, only this time theres no chance of getting in trouble, so you dont have to be so sure that everything gets put back exactly where it was before you did your poking around. Still, you hope to find something, or maybe you fear finding something, that will completely change your conception of the parent you thought you knew.
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Themes
- Death — Contemplations on mortality, loss, and the legacy we leave