Memory Boxes

In May, on our return trip from Philadelphia, my daughter and granddaughter and I stopped over at my older son's house to stay Saturday night with his family. Sunday morning my younger son and his wife and son came over for breakfast. We were all together, and I had something to share with each of my children: a memory box. In April I decided I wanted to do something concrete sooner rather than later, in addition to a family gathering later this summer. The Sunday before Mothers' Day, when we were all going to be together, seemed like the perfect time.

I had bought three decorative boxes about the size of shoe boxes. I had set aside two or three cards that I found among my mom's papers that each of my kids had sent their grandmother. I started filling each box with those cards and the small album I had created for her of each of her great-grandchildren in their baby & toddler years. From her stash of photos I selected a half dozen photos of her as a child and young woman for each of them, as well as a few photos of her with each of them when they were babies and teen-agers; I made small albums for those photos and attached on the last page a copy of the notice of her death I submitted to her local paper last August. Also in the box I placed a solar collector in the shape of a butterfly for their garden. The finishing touch was a small two-inch hoop with a piece of lace from her wedding gown and tied on top with a pink ribbon to hang in a window or as an ornament. 

The creation of the boxes was a process that I could not complete all at once. I set aside the cards one day. Another day I went through photos, and it took a few times through over a course of days because it was emotional for me. I had seen all the photos many times, even several times over the last year, but I hadn't looked at her life from age 5 to age 20 all at once. She was beautiful with the most wonderful smile, truly happy. I wished I had known her then; I wished she had been that happy when she was my mom. I was glad to have photos of her with my kids because they didn't see her often for a variety of reasons; when the kids were old enough to say what was true they coined the phrase "fly-by visit from Grandma" because she would come for a visit and in a couple days she'd be gone. I was glad there was a record of some of the time they had with her.

It was meaningful for me to give the  memory boxes. My children listened to my explanation of each item. We had time to talk a bit about what they remembered. Now the memories in each box may sit on a shelf for a while, and that's okay because what mattered to me was the giving of the opportunity to remember.

And I still have lots of photos to finish sorting, organizing, and preserving for future generations.

The journey continues....