“Do you remember when they got married?” I asked my brother.  We were shopping for Christmas presents for our father and stepmother.  I sometimes had nightmares about coming home and all of their stuff being cleared out and my parents being gone without a word.  My stepmother had been nothing but a great mother to my brother and I, but I had a seed of distrust lurking in the pit of my stomach.  I once let it slip to my brother that I had these dreams of our parents disappearing without a trace.  He said he had the same dream at least once a month. 

“I can’t believe you remember their wedding.  You were only about four when they got married.” 

“I remember the dress I wore.  Or at least I think I remember the dress.  Light pink with a twirly skirt great for spinning.” 

When we finally got back to the house after buying presents, we walked through our parent’s house looking at all the small details we hadn’t paid attention to in years.  I don’t know when the last time it was that I noticed the details in the woodwork.  Now I noticed everything.  Noticed the smells and the little pockets of dust.  It was the total reverse of my dream.  My parents’ things were all still in the house, it was just the two of them that were dead. 


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