I watched as my 33-year-old son Ryan bent way down under the dusty shelves in the back of the storage room. We had finally found a day to be together to start unpacking the basement chaos. It had been three trying months since my husband's funeral and my two boys and I were continuing the unsettling process of sorting through their dad's things. At only 59, Bill, my husband of 40 years, had died suddenly of a heart attack. The emotions on some days were taking their toll, and tackling one room at a time kept us guessing at what we would uncover. Bill had accumulated a ton … of …stuff. Or should I say, memories.
Ryan called for me to hand him a flashlight. I searched and found one in the vast pile of camping equipment and handed it to my youngest son, 26-year-old Jeremiah. He crouched down near the shelf ledge
