My mother passed away in April 3, 2000.
She left behind a very strong legacy of community support thanks to her efforts at the Roanoke Valley Chamber of Commerce – ceaselessly advocating for the businesses within the valley in many different ways. She also left behind a loving family – her husband of a few decades, and four children. She also left behind one amazing box.
About a year ago, my father, now living with my sister in a beautiful house, informed me of this box, saying that it contain my things. I was puzzled by this, as I was quite sure I took everything with me when I moved on to my homes and apartments around America. After all, Mom made sure that I had them. So I made all the appropriate noises, and quickly forgot about them. Then back during Thanksgiving, my father rumbled on about mailing me this box, along with the Christmas presents (a pair of beautiful glass/metal structures, and a few interesting books given by my nephew). Again, I made all the appropriate noises, without really caring much about that box.
But this box is different, I discovered.
Finally, in January, I got the box in the mail, safe and sound. The presents were highly appreciated and displayed in my home. I also discovered the true purpose of this box.
This box contained my childhood.
This box is my memory box.
For years, my mother carefully collected bit and pieces of the things I have made, or was a part of, and placed them all within this box. Objects with fond memories, both good and bad, of the time spent earning them, and bringing them home. There are memories that have been long forgotten until now.
After spending a few weeks going through the items, and placing them in a new (and decidedly plastic) box, I realized something. I would forget about these memories once again. Not only that, I would not be able to share them with anyone.
So over the next few months, maybe once a week, I shall pull out a item or two. I will take a picture of them just to share with you, my dear reader. I will tell you the stories behind the items, as uncolored as I could make them. Remembering those moments, the lessons, the challenges, and the errors of my ways — There are so much to share.
One fair warning – if you want to judge me, while reading through my tales – think of your own mistakes, and what you learned from them. Over time, I have realized how so deeply imperfect we all are. Even my father had plenty to share, and it makes me love him more for it. I only wish I had the opportunity to discover mom’s past, if only to open my eyes on how wonderful she have been, despite her flaws.
By doing this, I am giving you an opportunity to understand me a bit better.
