BOXES

T T T

BOXES

By: Dasmeer

Some years ago, I had the sad duty of packing up the souvenirs

of my mother’s long and well-spent lifetime. My Da kept

a few small tokens, treasures to say the least, the rest being

distributed between other family and friends. All in all there

remained a small box of ”specials” that I lovingly

 retired to the top of my closet, an appropriate place.

Having been a gypsy most of my life, moving often, I

understand well the need for boxes to be opened occasionally,

touched, smelled, capturing the memories of old yet familiar

nuances representing  that particular loved one.

Free spirit that I am, I still was the one chosen to

participate in many of these undertakings both with immediate

family and, later, dear friends.

Throughout our lives, we tend to collect the things that

represent our identity, comforting ourselves with objects only

to start the purge so that others will remember us with those

exact same thoughts. My boxes were many and varied,

containing more and more of the dwindling population that was

of my world.

My Da came to move to his next destination, joining the

love of his life, and again we gathered for his

“boxing.”

Years have passed, life has evolved, there are many more

boxes to move about, think on, remember fondly. I have decided

to distribute them, a necessary action for one so private.

There are now three boxes, Mom’s, Da’s and

mine. These will be given to the oldest child. Whether they

are kept does not matter. My job is complete. The boxes are

ready, the cycle continues.