Mom's black book

One fall day I was walking through the woods behind my house. It was sunny and warm out. The leaves of the trees sparkled with red, orange, and yellow. I was reminiscing about my mother; she had suddenly passed away this summer. She was a very caring person and would go without to give me what I needed in life. Not what I wanted but what I needed. We often walked these woods and make up stories of the things we would find laying on the ground. We could laugh and talk for hours. The silence now made me realized how much I miss her. I went to our favorite tree. The tree was a large oak tree that would keep us dry if it started raining. We would sit here and made-up stories of items we would find. Sitting there and looking around, I notice a piece of plastic in the crevices of the tree. I pulled it out. It was a zip lock bag and inside was a black book. A million thoughts went through my mind. How did it get here? What will be inside? I turn the first page and to see my mother's handwriting was beautiful. I read the words “to my loving daughter I love you always please go and find the box under the house”. So many questions went through my mind. “what is in the box”? “Why is it under the house”? “Why my mother would do this”? Needless to say, I ran all the way home.

I lived with my mother in this small two-bedroom house, there was much love in this house. There was a small opening to get under the house. What in the world was my mother be doing under here? It took a while for my eyes to adjust to the darkness than I was able to see a box. It was the size of a large suitcase and I dragged the box out from under the house. I open the top up and inside were things we had found in our walks together. I never knew she was collecting all of these things. I picked up a rock that was in the shape of a heart and we told a story of a family living in the woods and made the rock to remind their children they were loved. I saw the blue feather that we knew came from a bird that got lost in a storm. An arrowhead we said came from our Choctaw ancestors. One little boys' shoe we said he got into trouble and his mom dragged him home and he lost the one shoe. Laughing I picked up a torn-up teddy we said a baby bear had lost and missed it very much. I always thought my mom was

picking this stuff up to throw away when we got home. It meant so much more to her then I realized. There were also a few larger note books in the box. They were our stories, written down by my mother, I don’t know when or how she found the time to do this. There was an envelope with my name on it from my mom. I opened it carefully. She had written,

“The time we had together made me so happy. As a child you needed me to guide you in life, as a teenager I had to know when to let you go on your own, as an adult to talk and laugh of life's joys and complications together. This is what I wanted most of all. You gave me that when I needed it the most. I know I will be forever in your heart as you are in mine, I will always love you daughter, mommy”.

The memories of these stories my mom and I created are priceless to me. To know she loved it so much to keep the so-called junk and to write the stories down. I will be able to read them to my children. To teach them how my mother could take even a piece of garbage and form a story about it. As I looked over the items in the box, I noticed a black shoe box and wondered what could be in it. On the top was written “for your future”. I opened the box and to my surprise was a large sum of money and I started to count it. How did my mom manage to save twenty thousand dollars is beyond me? She had gone without so much comfort so I could have more in life than her. I never realized she was saving this money up for me, she never even hinted this to me. I wish I had given her more in life than I had. I think she was proud of me and how I managed my life. the end