Tattered Baby Blankets

I’ve cleared out the attic, which was no small task.  I’ve washed everything and I’m getting it ready for a big garage sale.  Just like you used to have when I was a kid.  So I’m tagging the old baby blankets but it’s hard to put a price on them.  Stacks of pink and green pastel fleece, they can’t be worth very much.  But I’m tagging it a dollar-fifty.  Then I’m choking and crying all of a sudden.  The memories of you are flooding back.  Preparing for a garage sale is like summoning you on an Ouija board, Mom.  You’re on my mind, my skin, your grandkids’ baby blankets, you’re so close I could grab your shirt and I would never let go.