A Simple Thing

I pack you up, reminder of difficult days. White as if innocent, but I know you stain easily. Red jello is not your friend. Your structure allowed easy port access, so you were purchased. You were only worn at those times, and so sat dormant when not needed. I hope you are never needed again even though I harbor no ill will towards you. You became a symbol of days apart, sickness, and visits to bring the family together again; even if it was just for a cafeteria lunch. Amazing how something so simple can evoke such a complex memory. I am sentimental, foolish, and inappropriately superstitious, so I am keeping you and your clones for now. I am not ready to forget the foaming hand sanitizer, C.S. Lewis books read in stages, walks to Children’s for ice cream, and squishing into tiny rooms to brighten a day. When I unpack you I will remember with renewed emotion, which is the valuable medicine I need. Some things need to go dormant as long as the lesson they were a part of lives strong.