PART 16 – Standing Beneath the Paper Snowflake, I Finally Understood That Walter’s Collection Had Not Been the Only Thing He Left Behind

Later that morning, I took a short break.

I sat in Clare's office with a cup of coffee.

The room was familiar.

The desk.

The shelves.

The photograph behind her chair.

And beyond the doorway, the old storage cabinet with the paper snowflake.

I looked at it.

The folded corner was still there.

I smiled.

Clare noticed.

"You're thinking about Walter again?"

"Always."

She sat down.

For a few minutes, we talked about the work being done at the center.

She explained that the donation would support several needs during the winter period.

I listened.

I wanted to understand what the contribution could accomplish.

Then I asked whether the emergency housing program was still receiving requests.

Clare nodded.

"There are still families who need assistance."

I looked down at my coffee.

"Thirty-one thousand dollars can help with quite a few things."

"It can make a meaningful difference."

I nodded.

That was what I had hoped.

I thought about the day I wrote the check.

I hadn't felt triumphant.

I hadn't felt angry.

I had felt certain.

There was a difference.

I knew the money had belonged to the proceeds from Walter's collection.

I also knew that I had the right to decide what happened to it.

Adam might not agree.

That didn't change my decision.

Clare looked at me.

"Have you spoken with him since?"

I shook my head.

"Not since he came to my house."

She didn't ask for details.

I appreciated that.

I didn't want to spend Christmas discussing the disagreement.

Instead, I wanted to talk about Walter.

I told her about the binders.

The labels.

The way he used to arrange everything.

Clare laughed.

"He was very particular about those things."

"He certainly was."

I remembered how he would become annoyed if somebody moved one of his folders.

He never said much.

He simply put everything back where it belonged.

I smiled.

Then I looked toward the photograph again.

For nearly thirty years, he had collected those pieces of hockey history.

For six years, he had given his time to the center.

Both parts of his life mattered.

The collection had been something he loved.

The volunteering had been something he believed in.

Now the proceeds from one were supporting the work of the other.

I couldn't think of a better way to connect them.

Clare stood.

"We should get back to work."

I finished my coffee.

Then I followed her into the main room.

The paper snowflake moved slightly when someone opened the nearby door.

I looked at it as I passed.

It was only paper.

But it had survived another Christmas.

And so had I.

Click here to continue reading: PART 17: I Had Spent Christmas Helping Strangers, but One Quiet Moment Made Me Wonder Whether My Own Family Still Remembered Me