It has been three days since her funeral.
My Mother sent me to her house to clean out her attic; it is to hard for her to come do it, so somehow she expects it won't be for me.
Dust swirls around my feet as I walk across the unfinished floor. I duck underneath a cross beam and work my way over to the last section remaining that I need to empty. I haven't been here in twenty years, not since I was five years old and my Gram and I last cleaned out the attic.