Memories. Hundreds, thousands, millions little moments of my life. Little bubbles blowing up as I walk around the four corners of an old house. The staircase banister my brother and I used to slide down with my mother yelling, worried we might fall. The cold marble floor that my family and I used to sleep on. Flattening every inch of our body against the cold when the electricity failed. The bed I used to cry myself to sleep to every night when I mended a broken heart. My table, now gone, where I used to spend hours sitting, reading, studying. The beds, shared between my sister and I. The little magical world underneath that I used to hide in when my sister and brother thought it would be fun to bully me. The head of my parents bed, where we all used to sleep together. Where my brother and I spent late nights playing monopoly. Where my mother used to hold us close and tell us bedtime stories. Where I once jumped up and down and twirled around and insisted that I wanted to be a ballerina. Insisted so bad my parents gave in and sent me to classes.

Memories. Pockets of them. So small as I packed them all away. Little by little. Pieces by pieces. Bags and bags of trash. Bags and bags of things to give away. Do we still need them now? these clothes from the 80's? My baby bottle? the coupons my mother used to cut to buy diapers with? Do we need them now? pictures of my father, young and handsome. Laughing as though he was about to conquer the world? My grandmothers organizer. The remnants of her that my mother clings on to? as though knowing what she had planned one early September morning will keep her alive?

So we pack them all away. We clean. We purge. In between it all, we hold remnants of the memories we have all had tucked away. The tears, the laughter, the broken hearts and the broken arm. Twenty years on, we are finally putting our ashes to rest.