It all started when my 29-year-old called in a panic asking if I
had her college diploma. Having accepted a job in London, she had quit her current
job, sublet her Brooklyn apartment, and applied for a visa to work abroad. Now
she needed to provide proof that she had actually graduated.
I was pretty sure the document was stashed in one of the boxes of
Abby’s stuff I had saved,
along with multiple containers of memorabilia from my other three girls. While
not exactly a hoarder, I seem to be incapable of discarding anything that might
turn out to have some sentimental value during my children’s lifetimes, or
possibly their descendants'. You just never know.