Cleaning Out

I was asked to clean out my boss's things today
What is is about other people's things I find so fascinating? She had a piggy bank filled with farm animals. She had notes and letters, some with names I recognized. She had postcards and tiny books on plants. She had organic soap and vegan soaps and even preserved blueberries. She had letters, some of them from prison, and one from the prison itself, telling her she couldn't come back. Seeing all of this just reminded me of how much I liked her, and I wondered what is making her so sick she can't even get her own things, and worrying about her a little, and, considering the prison things, feeling sorry for her, and mostly, just missing her. I miss her. I wish she hadn't left, or at the very least, was coming back.
Maybe no one else wanted to pack up her things because most of the people around here knew her better than I did.
The packing itself was okay. I wrapped things in bubble wrap, organized it so it was nice, hope that she is okay. I was tempted to stick a note in there myself, wishing her well.
I teared up a little at the thought of her.
I did that thing were you eat because you're sad. I've never done that before, and I guess I'm not going to again, because it didn't really make me feel better. I basically just felt the same. I guess I should be grateful the vending machine wouldn't let me have the chips and I got crackers instead. (If only it worked that when you were sad you suddenly would eat lettuce.)