I folded one of my daughter’s old baby blankets and couldn’t put it in the charity bag

Dear Delyara, I tried. I really did. It’s faded now, and the corner is slightly torn, and it hasn’t belonged to active family life in years. But the second it sat on top of the bag, something in me rebelled. Not because I need more clutter. Because I need proof. Proof she was that small once. Proof I held her in that softness. Proof I survived those years and loved through them and still carry them in my hands even now when she barely lets me choose her hairband without an opinion. I folded it again and put it back in the cupboard. That may not be healthy. It is human.