When I was little, I spent countless afternoons sitting on a wooden stool in his workshop, watching him turn ordinary pieces of timber into beautiful furniture.
He taught me how to measure carefully, sand along the grain, and recognize when something broken could still be repaired.
His workshop wasn’t simply a place where he worked.
It held some of my happiest childhood memories.
After he passed away, I couldn’t bear the thought of selling his tools.
So Mom and I carefully packed everything into storage unit B-17.
Dereck had offered to handle the monthly payments.
Por un tiempo, aprecié su ayuda.
Pero a lo largo de los años, ocasionalmente se había quejado del costo.
“Sheila, it’s been three years. We could put that money toward something useful.”
Each time, I explained that I wasn’t ready to part with Dad’s belongings.
Dereck would sigh and eventually change the subject.
