This morning, on the two year anniversary of my mom’s passing, I was laying in bed in the loft of my tiny house.  From that angle, I can see straight across the top of the house to the storage loft that’s on the opposite side.  Without really focusing on anything in particular, I found myself staring at two boxes.  One is a medium sized shoe box from an old pair of shoes and the other is a decorative metal tin.

But even though from the outside, they appear to be just two regular boxes, they’re not.  They’re actually my memories of my parents – one for dad and one for mom.

Each one has small mementos in it – a bracelet, photos, a prayer blanket, dog tags.  Things that were special to them or make me think of them when I see and hold them.  I put both of the boxes together after each of them passed.  During those days when everything is a bit of a blur, but you know you want to hold on to whatever you can.

They give me a good feeling and I am glad that I have them.  But laying there this morning starting at those two little boxes, it occurred to me… how strange is it that someone’s entire life, their entire existence can be reduced down to a small box?  How crazy is it that someone who was so important to you, someone that was an actual person that you talked to, laughed and cried with, is suddenly contained in an ordinary box?

It makes you stop to think… when I’m no longer here, will someone have a box to remember me?  And if so, what will be inside?

I think we all hope to touch other people during this life and hope to make a mark on this world somehow.  Whether it’s through something substantial that all the world sees or simply through the day to day interactions with those around us.

But when that time comes and your whole life is measured by a few mementos in a box, what will they be?  What items will act as the evidence of your life?  What will someone hold on to when they think of you?

What will be inside your box?


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