Sasha looks at the mess and sighs. However is she going to begin; the task seems insurmountable. Boxes of papers and keepsakes fill the room from floor to ceiling.
It was her mum who suggested she begin to sort through it all.
‘It’s not fair to leave it all to the kids after you’ve gone,’ she’d said, in her usual matter-of-fact tone. Completely ignorant of Sasha’s disease and feelings. ‘I recommend you start clearing it now. Get rid of all this clutter.’
Sasha had wiped away a stray tear. ‘But don’t you think they’d appreciate all this stuff. There’s baby photos in here.’
‘Of course they’ll want those, but the cards? It’s just not fair to leave them with this massive job. Look,’ her mum was pointing to a box. ‘These can be thrown away. Your children won’t even know who half these people are.’
It’s true, Sasha thinks now. Her three teenagers won’t know who Eric and Judy are. Even Sasha’s struggling to place them as she flicks through the message. And the bundle tied up with string for Jake and Ollie? Her twins are almost nineteen. Why did she keep all this stuff?
With another sigh, she chucks the bundles of cards into the box labelled ‘THROW’.
The irony of the task doesn’t escape her. She’s throwing away keepsakes from her past, while preparing for her own death. Her life is being tossed away, cut short.
Mortality is a bitch.