Putting My Feet in the Dirt 11

The boys packed their belongings in their mother’s worn suitcase. The brown leather handle was barely hanging on but they knew she would never have minded them using it.

Ever since their mother died, the two brothers were closer than ever. The father of the two was a hard worker in a poor neighborhood, and gone most of the time. The grandfather the boys loved dearly, watched over them occasionally while their dad was away at work. The three grew even closer because his wife, their grandmother, had passed a few years earlier.

When they finished packing for a week trip to stay with their grandfather, they stopped a moment in their parent’s bedroom. Looking at a picture of their mother, placed on the bedside table, they noticed a rose beside it, now dried and withered. The rose was placed by their father.

“Dad sure misses her, makes me feel bad for him.”

“We all miss her but I think it’s worse for him. He thought she was magic.”


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