Packing up her life was not stepwise, no matter how determined she was to be systematic. Almost everything invited revery. True, some decisions were easier than others—bathrobe, yes. Sam’s picture, yes. But the grandchildren. The sensible choice would be the group shot, the one where they’d gathered for the last weekend at the lake. Everyone was in it, except Sam, so it was hard to see anything but where he should have been. And what about the one where a smiling, tear-stained Elena hugged Goodbye Moon to her, not caring that it was barely readable after a rainy night on the dock. Or that one of Jody, red and yellow and pink plastic straws sticking out of his ears and nostrils, his face scrunched around the green one sucking up grape punch.  It was his fifth birthday party. She didn’t care if she had no place to set them out in that two-room condo—she’d rather keep them in a box than give them up, them and so many others. 

 

And what about the plants? There was no good light in that place. Surely she should held out for something she liked better. To be honest, she’d liked it when she visited, and there were plants everywhere in the building, inside and out. But what about her plants? Who would take them. She couldn’t think of a single person she’d trust to take care of that dieffenbachia. She’d nursed it, or its forbear, if she was honest, through the ravages of 6 bluepoint Siamese kittens, not knowing that one of its common names was dumb cane. They’d used its broad leaves as a landing spot on their mad circuits of the living room—TV to chest to chair to dieffenbachia to curtains to couch and back to television, racing around like the tigers in Little Black Sambo, that oh so inappropriate book she’d had as a child. At least she didn’t have that one to decide about. 

No wonder her friends had thrown up their hands, and left it all to her children. But then, she didn’t have a daughter, did she? Or anyone to tell her how to take the next step. Up? or down?