Brooke Jennett

I popped open the box and was surprised to find an urn inside.

Like the box, the name Irv was written across the urn.

Why is this in a box?

I said out loud under my breath.

I gently placed the urn on the ground and dug further into the box.

There were a few photo albums, and it was clear that Irv was Jim's father.

In the photos, he seemed like he was a good guy.

He seemed to genuinely love Jim and Agnes.

I set that box down and pulled down the three other banker boxes.

They were all labeled with names.

Tom, Roger, and Sean.

Like Irv's box, each one was filled with memories.

They all seemed pleasant.

Nothing that would suggest suicide or abandonment.

I know we can all curate our own little emotional garden and pluck out all of the unsightly weeds.

But if you do too much plucking, you wreck the ecosystem.

Everything here seemed fine.

I was more confused than I had been before.

From behind me, I heard someone flip on the bathroom light.

I turned around and watched as the office side bathroom door squeaked open.