A cherished box, under the tree for only just a moment.
Which is one of the reasons I don't want to open it. I don't want to see the breakage, the finality of it. I want to imagine my grandmother's hands wrapping each one, knowing she was the last to touch it. I want to see my Grandma, touch her, be with her, but all I have are ornaments...well, really, a box of ornaments.
I reason with myself that it would be foolish to put these cherished ornaments on my Christmas tree and put them in harm's way. (Have you met my two year-old Luke?) In fact, opening the box would probably open up some feelings I would rather push aside. Especially at Christmas. I miss her to my core, she was taken before I was ready. She would love to see these wonderful children of mine running around full of life. I have to believe a part of her is running around with them, though this is more of a pleading thought rather than an expression of faith.
So another year passes without opening the box. The lovely brown and white of a decades-old Montgomery Ward shoebox will hold many hopes for me for another year.
One day...maybe when I am a grandmother.
Merry Christmas!
3 comments:
thanks for sharing that... very touching.
i love you girl
How beautiful Sarah. I know what you mean about trying to capture a connection and keep it alive.
Post a Comment