I’ve cleared out the attic, which was no small task. I’ve washed everything and I’m getting it ready for a big garage sale. Just like you used to have when I was a kid. So I’m tagging the old baby blankets but it’s hard to put a price on them. Stacks of pink and green pastel fleece, they can’t be worth very much. But I’m tagging it a dollar-fifty. Then I’m choking and crying all of a sudden. The memories of you are flooding back. Preparing for a garage sale is like summoning you on an Ouija board, Mom. You’re on my mind, my skin, your grandkids’ baby blankets, you’re so close I could grab your shirt and I would never let go.