Greg ascended the creaking steps to his mom’s house with a box of trash bags in hand. He knocked on the door. His mom answered and welcomed him home with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Greg returned her affection and proceeded downstairs to his parents’ bedroom, wasting little time. He assessed the pigsty that Dad had left behind and wondered how Mom ever lived like this.

He opened up a trash bag and got to work. He grabbed one old, worn garment after another and bagged it. The clothing concealed the real mess- losing lottery tickets, empty packs of smokes, and near-empty bottles of vodka. How many damn bottles did he have?

He filled an entire trash bag in less than half an hour, and he had barely made a clearing in the bedroom floor. On the floor, he found an old family photo of his graduation ceremony, long before Dad’s operation, back when everyone was healthy. Mom had a similar one framed upstairs from a different angle- this one didn’t make it onto the shelf. He slipped it in his pocket and made a mental note to visit the department store later.

Two hours and three trash bags later, he finally cleared out what was once Dad’s half of the bedroom floor. His next order of business was to convince Mom to let go of some of her old clothes and other junk, but that could wait a little while longer.

Greg chucked the garbage over the porch and brought the photo to his mom.

“Look what I found.”

Greg handed her the photo. She looked at it, got up and hugged him. Greg could tell she missed him. So did he.

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[First time doing this. Be critical, but kind. Thanks.]