Memories in a Box

Dear Diary, 

My memory box. Years ago my dad had this black velvet box that he didn't need anymore. I said I will take it and I started storing memorable items in it. It sits on a shelf in my closet and I don’t open it that often. 

The first thing I put in there when I was a kid was something my mom made at an overnight church camp. There were two safety pins with beads on them that my mom made and gave to me. Not only are they memories from my mom but, it reminds me of God. Reminds me of the Bible, church, my mom wanting to be a better person for her kids.  

Everytime I open that box I get flooded with memories and important people in my life. 

There are objects, pictures, and handmade things from my childhood. It's an emotional box that is filled with happiness and lies from my past. 

There is a picture of me and my dad. I’m a baby sleeping on his chest while he watches the Packer game on Sunday. I took that picture, and made one twice the size than the other. I made a border out of the little tiny beads that stuck together to make a frame. My picture fits inside of his picture. That picture will forever be in my heart. 

In that box is a memory card of my Great Uncle that just passed away. This was the first death I have experienced of someone in my family who I actually grew up with. Was I super close with him? No. Did I see him at my grandpa's house every once in a while? Yes I did. The dark color of blue ran through that church like a big wave. The tears of my grandparents, uncles, cousins, one big dark blue wave of sadness. 

The last thing I'm going to talk about in my memory box is a picture of my parents. Before they had kids. Them sitting on a coach, happy, smiling. Before the happiness went away, before the fighting, before the divorce, before their lives changed. A happy married couple before reality got to them. But that happy couple is why I'm here today. 

This memory box is what I can't live without.