Never Forget Me

Every year on the same day, I sadly sat by the window with the same sorrow as before until the day I was disturbed by the sound of approaching propellers. They were the propellers of a package-carrying drone! It flew by my window to grab my attention, and then quickly raced toward my front porch. I ran as fast as I could to catch a glance of it up close, but once I opened the door, it was gone. I looked right and left, but all that was left was a box. A mysterious box. It was slightly bigger than a shoebox, but it was brown and dull. Ultimately, the perfect distraction from an otherwise saddening day. I picked up the box and began to read the letter attached to it.

It read,

“If you’re reading this letter, then that means that you now possess a box filled with some of the most important things to me. And now, maybe some of the most important things to you. There was no way to know exactly when you would need these things, so I’m sorry if it’s arriving later than you wanted. But, if it helps, my life has shown me that things always happen when they’re supposed to—even some of the most surprising things. When you were born, I immediately saw you were strong, kind, and adaptable. You didn’t need to do much to make the whole world love you. Over the years, you grew to be a person who is genuine, worthy of love, and unshakable. But I also know that something can break even the mightiest of us. This box’s contents are for whenever you need help putting yourself back together again because of me.”

I paused. I could already feel the heavy emotions from earlier, seeping into these moments. I crept inside the house with the box, found a seat inside, and continued reading the letter.

It said,

“When my dad died, I was just a little kid. I became afraid of death and afraid of living. Afraid of getting my hopes up and afraid of being let down by the people I loved. I realized that this fear came from me slowly forgetting my father. I forgot how his voice sounded, how his hugs felt, and what made him laugh. I lost the reasons I adored him so much, but I couldn't let go of my burning sensation to bring him back. I never got to ask him questions about being a man, his dreams, or if I ever made him proud. I never saw him cheer when I graduated high school or even have him teach me how to ride a bike. When we were together, I always felt like I had tomorrow, next week, or next year. But no one ever promised that time to us. And I learned that quickly. We made a mistake. A mistake that I decided to resolve through you. With this box.”

I stood up, not realizing how long I was holding my breath. I started pacing the floor, just staring at the box, excited and nervous. I continued.

“We don’t have to continue to leave behind generations of children who don’t truly know their fathers and then watch them slip away. It was impossible to fit everything in here for you, but I guarantee that you will be receiving more than I ever got the chance to receive from my dad. And I hope that you allow yourself to do the same for your child one day. I love you. I always will. Sorry, I’m not there with you now. But I hope even these little pieces of me can be enough. Please don’t spend your life tearing yourself apart about me. I lived a great life. Now, it’s time for you to live yours. This is the beginning of a change, and I’m happy I can give this to you.”

I put down the letter, and I cried for maybe an hour. I refused to open the box until I could finally settle down. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, cut it open, and felt an overflow of memories return all at once.

Memories I thought I lost.

Memories of my dad…