Chapter 23 - THE MEDAL BOX
When Eamon moved out, he found the medal box.
I had stored it in his closet.
Broken original ribbon folded beneath the replacement one.
Certificates.
Not every award.
Just things he chose to keep.
He sat on the floor.
“Why did you keep broken ribbon?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mom.”
“Probably because I thought it mattered.”
“Does it?”
I looked.
Frayed fabric.
A little red-brown stain from where the ribbon scratched his neck.
“No.”
He handed it to me.
“Trash?”
“Your choice.”
He threw it away.
The medal stayed.
Not because trauma made it sacred.
Because he liked it.
May you like
Simple.
That night I realized how much healing looks like losing interest in symbolism.
