I still remember the smell of that hospital room like it was yesterday. It was a mix of cheap floor cleaner and that sweet lavender rose perfume my Helen always wore. She was so small in that big hospital bed, bless her heart.

She looked almost like a little doll, just slipping away from me bit by bit.

She reached out and took my hand. Her fingers were so cold, mind you, it made me want to cry right then and there.

“Keep the letters safe, Arthur,” she whispered. She had to gasp for air between the words, but she was looking right at me. “Promise me you will.”

I knew exactly what letters she was talking about. They were the ones our daughter Carly had sent home during her college years. Twelve years of them, all neat and tidy, tied up with a yellow silk ribbon in Helen’s top dresser drawer.

“I promise, sweetheart,” I told her. I squeezed her hand as best as I could.

I meant it too. I really did. But I’ll be honest with you, grief does some terrible things to a person’s head. It makes you do things you’d never dream of doing in your right mind.

Helen passed away the very next morning. The next few days were just a blur of neighbors bringing over hot casseroles and people patting my shoulder at the funeral home. They kept telling me how strong I was being, but they didn’t know the half of it. I was completely lost in my own house.

By the sixth day, the house was empty and it was just too quiet. I went into our bedroom, and the scent of her perfume was still hanging in the air. It was like she had just stepped out to the grocery store and would be back any minute.

I opened her dresser drawer and saw that yellow ribbon. I pulled one of Carly’s letters out of the envelope, and wouldn’t you know it, the paper itself smelled just like Helen’s lavender. It hit me like a physical blow. It felt like a hand squeezing my throat so hard I couldn’t breathe.

So I did something awful. I didn’t think about it, I didn’t plan it. I just grabbed the whole bundle of letters, walked out to the backyard, and tossed them straight into the old rusty oil drum we used for burning leaves.