I have this box stuffed back in the furthest part of my closet. Every once in a while I take it out, open it up and go threw every memory I have packed in there. You name it, I have it.
Little cloth shaped hearts with different sayings on them. Silly poems I wrote as a teenager. wish lists and bucket lists.
I have yearbooks, concert tickets, movie tickets, postcards and newspaper clippings. There are notes from grade school, middle school and high school.
Halloween costumes. Hand made Christmas gifts. Flags from the forth of July. Teddy bears, balloons, key chains and bottle tops.
Letters from my grandfather to my grandmother.
Letters from my dad to my mom.
And yes letters from my husband to me.
I have my children’s hair clippings and report cards and small school projects. I have baby pictures, wedding pictures, vacation pictures, family pictures, all kinds of pictures. It’s all there. Every thing has a memory attached. Good or bad. It’s all there.
In essence every thing I am and everything I know is in a 60 quart box that I have held on to for the better part of my life.
Why am I telling you this?
Because I believe that my life is not determined by how much money I make, what cloths I have on my body or how big my house is. My life, when I am gone, will be defined by my memories. These little things, most of which cost nothing, will be what my children and grandchildren look at when they want to remember me and that is how it should be.
And if by chance I am effected by Alzheimer’s or Dementia, I would hope that my friends and family members would be willing to pull out this box of memories and let me go threw it every once in a while even if I don’t remember what the hell it is anymore.
Simple little things are what make us who we are. I hope that you also have a place, not just in your heart or your head, but in your home that you can store a memory or two in.
