It wasn’t only the jar, but the what was inside the jar too.

Though no one else seemed to care. Not mom, who insisted it had probably been broken and thrown away. Or my oldest sister, who barely looked up from her phone. Not even grandpa, who claimed he simply didn’t care for the old cookie jar anymore.

But I knew the truth about the cookie jar, and what was inside it.

The jar had been there for as long as I could remember, untouched and collecting dust. Back when Grandma had been alive, she used to joke that the jar held more than just sugar and flower. “A cookie holds a memory,” She’d say with a wink, “and every memory needs a home.”

I’d thought she was just being poetic. Until I ate a cookie from the jar.

That’s when I realized, what she had been trying to tell me. She had ment that a cookie literally holds a memory. When eaten, the cookies transported the memory into the persons mind, good memories, bad memories, and the sad ones too.

Now though, the jar was gone. And so were the memories held inside the cookies. Although, maybe it would have been better if I never had to relive those memories. Maybe it’s better that I had forgotten them.

Maybe those memories that had been locked away inside the cookies were reason I hid the cookie jar. Maybe they were the reason I had baked a batch of cookies, pouring my memories of hiding the jar in each one, so I’d forget the jars location. Perhaps those memories are best left hidden in the past.