The Memory Box

Being home. What is odd about being home is that though you are living in the present the past seems to be right along side you, more present and more tangible than it is when you are off in your world, the world you have created. It makes me wonder, do we run from home because it stifles us? Unable to really shake the past, how can we ever create the present? Or do we leave out roots because sometimes the weight of the past is too heavy to live in the present? All of these thoughts came rushing at me today when I picked up my little brother from his house, the house where my mom used to live before she passed away. Every time I come home to visit and go over there, my skin tingles, my eyes water and my body floods with emotion. As I walk through that door, I see the kitchen she used to cook in, the coffee maker she would stand smiling at as we chatted from the table as she made coffee for my visit. The pictures are still on the walls, her smile, her presence everywhere. Its eery because everything is the same, and my brain for one split second expects her to emerge, harried from the other room, telling me to sit, make myself at home, she will be in in a minute. But it doesn't happen, instead as I wait for my brother I stare into the kitchen, into the clean sanitary emptiness that now exists, and try to imagine her, her smile, cooking food, hosting, doing 8 million things at once, her energy, her love. And I wonder...does my brother feel this every morning when he awakes up, that brief feeling of hope that as he emerges from his bed, he will wake to my mom preparing breakfast, smiling, good morning hugs? It haunts me just to imagine this. Today's trip was even harder as Mike found a box of memories my mom had stored, old cards, letters we had written her. Tangible traces of the past, staring at me in the present. As I opened the cards and read the letters I was struck with pain, grief, happiness and confusion all at once. As I read each word I envisioned my mom placing them in her box of memories, treasuring the loving words of her children. The past was here with me, I was holding it. Old thoughts, old emotions, read by my mom, held by my mom, stored by my mom. I slowly read the old letters and cards and was doing alright, sad but alright until I got to that one....as I unfolded it I saw it was a Christmas card from my sister to my mom, each and every line was sweeter than the next. But then it hit me and it hit hard, at the end of the letter my sister has written a quote, a quote a stumbled over, barely able to see through the tears when I finished. Reading the quote left me light headed and weak...it read "Without you, there'd be no sun in my sky, there would be no love in my life, there'd be no world left of me...I love you! Merry Christmas!" "There'd be no world left of me" That line I couldn't let it go, it ran through me head over and over and over again. Those words, they ran through my mind and I suddenly understood my sisters pain on a whole new level. Those words so beautifully describe her relationship with my mom, and I wanted nothing more than to hug my sister at that very moment and let her know I could feel her pain and sense her loss. I also wanted to tell her how proud I was of her, the person she had become, the amazing, hard working, smart, funny, kind, intelligent woman she is, despite losing a large part of her world. Those words will have to wait for it is too late to call now. For the rest of us I just have to say...life is short, tell the people in your life how you feel. Write a letter. Send a card. Make it into their memory box, so one day you too can hold the past and know the people you loved knew how you felt and treasured the words you wrote. Maybe the past is not so scary after all, it reminds us that there is nothing more precious than the present. Maybe the weight of the past can propel us to action, maybe it can inspire us to open up, seize these precious seconds and live......