Pandora's BoxI've always been one to collect things from the people I care about. I suppose because things were never concrete in my youth. Relationships could be fleeting since we moved so often. So as I grew, so did my collections...first it would be a box that held things from my friends. All of my friends from the time I made the box until the next stage. This box would have trinkets...a beaded necklace from playing dressup. The box from the barbie doll she got me for my birthday. Little notes we'd pass in elementary school. A candy wrapper. Just little tidbits that said someone, somewhere thought I was worthwhile and enjoyed my company.
As I got older, the boxes would be a sort of time capsule for that year of my life. High school. Ticket stubs from movies or concerts. Programs from things we'd go see. Pictures. Notes. Whatever I could save.
The boyfriends that mattered got their own boxes. Everything I had from them went into a shoebox.
Now, I have a marriage. It's over. It's a twelve-year relationship. I thought the "box" was my home. Everywhere there are memories. I've been settled here. We were together forever and there was no need for a box. Our trinkets are in my closet, in my jewelry box, on the kitchen counter....two lives melded together seamlessly. No way to tell mine from yours.
At first, this was therapeutic as well as sad. Pulling out the things that were his. I was so busy, I didn't have the time to think about it. So now I'm down to my last closet. Everything else inside the house is done. And then, I found the box.
It's cedar. There are leather straps for hinges and a mirror wtih a fr
Inside, there is the envelope that holds ten dollars of the fifty was my prize in the first photgraphy contest I ever entered. A guitar pick. A tearstained letter from my father to me, written when I was six years old and his divorce from my mother and the separation from me was still a very fresh pain. And so many other things. So many reminders of the time when I was happily married. Pandora's box, bringing up all the memories and the sadness that this is no more. A testament to the time when HE loved me. When he was able to show it. When there wasn't so much water under the bridge. When we were young and life had yet to change us. It was pure and innocent love, untainted by our flaws.
I'm blessed and cursed with a very good memory. And the need to hold on to what's great. Or what once was great. That little box makes me mourn for something that once was. It's like a tiny casket for my young married life. And now, it's back on the shelf, because I have no idea what to do with it.