Just a breath away.

There is a dusty blue trunk somewhere in my garage or perhaps on a shelf in offsite storage - I am not even sure any more what is in it. I convinced my husband to bring it home some time ago so that I could go through it. I remember opening it. I remember the smell of yesterday on my hands and the feeling of grubby on my fingertips. I vaguely remember my twister beads, a picture from a college formal and papers that I had no recollection of but that were certainly treasures at one time. And I remember not finding - or maybe just not recognizing - whatever it was that compelled me to open the trunk in the first place.
Funny how the things we held most dear once can be completely forgotten. Packed away to gather dust until we are ready to remember them or throw them away.
Sometimes those SHS days feel like they were lived by someone else and I can barely remember the people, the smells (maybe that's a good thing), the way it felt.... I was talking to a former neighbor the other day. His wife passed away not too long ago. They had been married for 53 years. We stood in his yard, looking to the end of the cul de sac, where my husband was standing in the driveway. I asked him how long he had been married and he told me - and he said, "And the funny thing is, it was just a breath away."
Just a breath away.