The Suitcase

I pulled the old black case out of the basement closet, dragging it up two flights of stairs to pack what my daughter might need for rehab. How can the objects I put in there tell her how much I want her to quit putting heroin in her veins and put LOVE in her heart instead. Please respond to your program, and not die by the randomness of a drug overdose.

I packed a childhood pillowcase hoping she would remember how innocent she was. I wrote inspirational quotes on notecards to put in the pocket of her favorite jeans. I packed a plastic toy horse called Spirit. I packed her some shampoo hoping she would rub some sense into her head. I packed some fish oil for her brain to heal. I packed the quilt her grandmother gave her. I packed cute shirts we bought together. I packed lavender soap hoping it would help her relax. I packed a fresh towel to use when she washed herself clean. I packed watercolors and paintbrushes since she used to love to paint.

As I struggled a little with the zipper, I said “You will live.”

- Sara Leslie Camacho October 9th, 2019