Don't Open Until I'm Dead

"DON'T OPEN UNTIL I'M DEAD" was written on the envelope tucked in between the twine that was tied tightly around the box wrapped in plain brown paper. The box was heavy. It couldn't have been cardboard. But it also wasn't heavy enough for it to have been made of wood. Plastic, maybe? No. After tapping the sides it definitely didn't feel like plastic. A light shake didn't do much to solve the mystery either. A harder jostle was just as fruitless. Maybe the envelope could offer a clue.

The envelope was removed from the top of the package and examined. It was standard letter sized white envelope that had more than a few creases in it as if it had been handled for a long time. Inside the envelope was a letter written in HER handwriting. It read in faded black ink:

To the love of my life,

Do you remember the day we snuck onto that bus while the driver was distracted by the people with the red balloons? We rode the bus for almost an hour before the driver realized we didn't pay, he kicked us off right there on the side of the road. Luckily we weren't too far so we walked for a half hour and made it to the beach before it got too crowded.

We took a stroll in the sand along the ocean for five minutes before you came to the conclusion that you hated the way sand felt and asked if we could walk along the board walk instead. I obliged but I told you only if you bought me lunch from my favorite concession stand. I asked for a hot dog and you waited in line while I found us bench with a view. You found me and handed me my hot dog. I noticed your hands were empty. I thought back to the bus and realized why you had been counting you money over and over again in seat next to me. I was so excited to see the shore I wasn't thinking about what that meant. I asked how much money you had left and after a brief hesitation you laughed with a hint of embarrassment and said you had enough for one shot at winning me a prize. I smiled, tore my hot dog in half, handed you one end and said, "In that case you better make it count."

We walked the boardwalk for hours in circles, passing the same games and rides and faces but we didn't care. We weren't there for any of that. We were there for each other. Eventually though, you did point out that you still had to win me a prize so we found one of those games where you throw baseballs at a stack of cans. You did better than I would've done but after your turn there were still cans on the platform, which meant no prize. I said it was fine and meant it but you said you promised me a prize. You took a baseball and threw it right above the head of the teenager manning the game stand. As he ducked you yanked a pink stuffed dog off the wall, grabbed my hand and ran. We ran the length of the boardwalk to the street laughing, not realizing that no one was chasing us. It wouldn't have mattered anyway.

We saw our bus pull up and I started to walk towards it. You said we'd catch the next one and lead me around the boardwalk to spot on the beach beneath the pier. We had our first kiss as the waves lulled us into a rhythm of passion. When we separated I reminded you that you hated the beach and the sand. You said it was ok sometimes and winked at me. We kissed again and afterwards we looked into each other’s eyes, yours said you wanted to tell me you loved me mine probably hoped you would.

Of course, you didn't say it that day. We both know that. That day came a little ways down the road. But still, the day we went for a ride on your motorcycle and you told me that you loved me for the first time isn't what I've been thinking about. Neither was the day and night of our wedding, or the birth of our daughter or any of the nights in between and after. No, I've been thinking about that first day, when you took me to a sandy beach town.

In these past few months, in and out of hospitals I've replayed that day over and over again in my mind. You were young and reckless and you would do anything to make me happy even from the beginning. Now, in what will ultimately be the end of our relationship it's my time to return the favor. You're still young and I want you to be happy after I'm gone. Find someone new to kiss beneath a pier and steal a pink stuffed dog for. She’ll be lucky to have you. I know I was.

I know it might take awhile but when you're ready to move on and find someone new I want you to open the package I attached this letter to. You’ll know what to do after you do. I love you darling, and I want nothing but happiness for you, always and forever.

With all the love I left to give,

The woman lucky enough to have spent her life with you

The daughter dried her eyes and put the letter her mother had written when she knew her days were numbered back into the envelope. The letter to her father first read thirty years before his death. She tried to dry the teardrops that appeared on the front of the envelope. She realized her effort was in vain and tucked the envelope back between the tightly tied twine and the box wrapped in brown paper that had never been opened.