a Blank Page

a Blank Page

She was ninety-five and bedridden for 30 plus years. There were caregivers and her window faced the Catholic Church spires. Laying there, looking out praying, she died.

Deb and I were offered the apartment, if we moved everything out and did all the necessary repairs. Deb took much of the woman’s clothing to the theatre. We kept the dishes, cookware, and a few furnishings.

Her ancient photos, letters and everything else wound up on the curb in large trash bags. Early the next morning, we watched the sanitation truck compact her life and move on.

Days later we found a crumpled paper behind the radiator. It was blank.

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