In the Box

                                      In the Box

          I stood in front of the casket, looking down at my mother’s beautiful face.  She looked lovely, even in death and suddenly I couldn’t move; my feet frozen to the floor.  I knew that this was the last time I would ever see her and couldn’t tear myself away.  With tears streaming down my face, I could barely see as someone grabbed me by the hand and led me to a pew.

          I’m sure the service was beautiful, but really, I can’t say.  It was all a blur of flowers, prayers, and music that whizzed by me, my mind was far away.  I was thinking about all the times we had shared and things that only she and I knew and how I would never again be able to ask her advice or call her on the phone.  How she would miss out on seeing my kids grown.  So many thoughts that I missed the whole thing and I vaguely remember getting many hugs and condolences.  I couldn’t tell you who from.

          A few days later, I still was in shock and tears still so close that I couldn’t think much.  My Dad was in a kind of stupor; his own grief was so much for him to bear.  He asked me if I would help him to clean out my mom’s things.  He just couldn’t bring himself to do it, but it was heartbreaking to see them there.  I told him I would, though I was unsure that I was up to it.

          One thing you should know about my mother is that she was a very private person.  I felt so guilty going through her things, as if she could any minute come into the room and ask me to explain.  I silently apologized for my intrusion as I began boxing things up.  I tried not to look too closely at what I was handling as I packed.  My eyes were far from dry and try as I might; memories flooded me with every item I picked up.  There were jewelry boxes and ceramic figurines that she had had since I was small and several gifts that my sister had made her over the years. 

          I was drowning in my misery by the time I neared her closet.  Looking inside at her clothes, I felt terror and panic seize me.  The woman had kept clothes that she hadn’t worn for years and years, but most of them I remembered and how was I going to ever get through this?  It was like the worst kind of torture.  Somehow I did it and did not break down. 

          With the closet mostly cleared, I saw a huge cardboard box.  It was pushed far into the farthest corner.  The box was obviously very old and had been taped up several times and as I tried to move it, the old paper tore in my hands.  The contents spilled out onto the floor of the closet.

          There were books, pictures, letters, birthday cards, and many other things.  .  I was fascinated and amazed at the things she had kept.  There were things that had belonged to me and my sister that had disappeared through the years.  Some I had wondered where they went and others, I had completely forgotten.  There was the Raggedy Ann pendant from my fourth birthday, and baby clothes that had been my sister’s.  As I took a closer look, I realized that the books were yearbooks; not just from her own high school years, but from her years of teaching.  There were photos of students dated back to the early 1970s.  I realized as I looked, I was looking at my mother’s entire life.  She had kept mementoes from students and college friends.  Slowly, I began sorting through all of the things and separating them into a chronological order. 

          When I was finished, I had a perfect account of my mother’s entire life, starting with a few of her grade cards from elementary school and ended with pictures of her kindergarten class from her last year teaching.  It was as though she had left me a gift - the gift of the account of her life.  

Suddenly, through my tears and grief, I was so very proud to be part of that account.  All of my life, I had watched as she so graciously gave of herself to help others, her family, her students, and her church.  I had never thought about how everyone had impacted her as well.  It was obvious that this box was her treasure chest and everyone in it was special to her. 

I have since started a scrapbook containing all of these things as a tribute to my mother.  I will hold her close to my heart forever and her treasures have become mine.