The Box that I Dread...

There's a box in my house, up my stairs, under my bed, shoved so far that I have to nearly place myself UNDER the bed to reach it. It lies there undisturbed out of sight for several reasons. Mainly, because it holds things that are dear to my heart. Things that take me to a place in time that breaks me down to my core. I dread seeing this box because it is magnetic, it pulls me in when ever I get a glimpse of it, so I shove it far away. Today, I opened that box and two hours later I realized I was still going through the box. Things were still left undone, I hadn't finished the days chores, but I realized that every time I've opened the "dreaded" box, I've been filled to capacity with feelings of joy. That "dreaded box" holds memories of my uncle Jimmy, My aunt Carmella, cousin Duna, Big Mama and Big Daddy, Miss Sug, Mozzella, Uncle Sam, and others that have gone on home to be with the Lord. People that helped to raise me during a time when communities really did raise children, all had memories in that box. As I stared at all the photos and obituaries I was reminded of the wonderful people that filled my childhood with joy. The childhood art of my kindergarten children brought back memories of their days of innocence, times I miss. As I closed the box, I knew that the next time would come sooner. It won't be long before I'm shoving my body back under my bed to reach for that which has made me who I am. I can't wait to once again find time to open that "dreaded box".....ahhhhh.