Memory Boxes

Sara sat down, surrounded by boxes of shiny wood, one ear connected, as usual, to Darrell's breathing, holding herself each time she stuttered - waiting, waiting for her next breath so she could breathe again. . He lay on the bed, curled up next to the baby.

What was left of the man she had married all those years ago was an empty shell, the essence of which had disappeared from the plates and covered her brain. She had been his backbone and his entertainer; empowered and inspired. Now he had his last gift. He put gray hair behind his ear and straightened his posture.

The time came for him to be released. He did not show mercy to her by holding on. He had made her promise to remember their happiness and not to dwell on her grief. They make up enough memories to keep her together until they are together again.

The wood was cut from their small orchard, cut into planks by Darrell. Together, they designed each box with love, and the members came together neatly. The smallest was about the size of his thumb; the largest eight-inch cube.

The box of applewood was original, the smell of wood was sweet but tart. A smile was engraved on the door. She put the box on her chest. Finally, she breathed a sigh of relief, opened it, and released the memory they had so patiently kept in mind. A ball of shiny pieces floated in a box to wrap around his head, and the memory exploded into a vision. Young people in the summer camp, giggled as they ran down the dusty road to the lake and poured themselves into clear cold water. It was a comfortable day that was difficult as he moved around kissing her, no one knowing exactly what to do and bumping into each other's noses during the process.

The memory moved from him and floated to Darrell, where he sat on his chest. Her breathing was muffled, and she took a deep, clear breath.

The next box was the largest. Made of black walnut, the grain of the grain was ground with sand to a smooth satin texture. Sarah pulled it closer to her heart, breathing in the sweet smell. Walnut, of love.

He opened the carved door and the memory grew freely, fulfilling his vision of the day they would meet after years of separation. A beautiful spring day, full of promise. He had entered a coffee shop feeling like running and running and hitting someone's back. He had already begun to apologize when Darrell turned around. The words die in the blank letters as they see each other in their summer love. Her eyes were shining like the gold of love. They had not parted since.

It was a precious memory, that Sara did not want to give up, but Darrell's fragile state, transformed into a strong man with whom he shared his life, became the force he needed. He collected the memory in his hands, where it shone like the rays of the sun. He sprayed it on Darrell, where it landed on his forehead. The pain that was inflicted there subsided, and it subsided in their grip.

As it went, the boxes loaded with love, their smooth sides rubbed and kissed each other. The doors opened while the redwoods released their memories. The pine brought a peaceful glow to Darrell's face, and the oak had a touch of color in his yard. The olive tree reminded him of his wisdom in choosing what he would keep and what he would discard.

The clock struck midnight as he opened the last box. Surrounding him on the floor were empty boxes, their lids scattered randomly. The last kept this box, the smallest. Cherry wood, full of sweetness and light. Darrell had placed it in the sand with special care, rubbing a small nub that many would not notice.

Sarah held the box too long before removing the lid.

Memories flowed with the scent of cherry blossoms, the same one that filled the floor the night they returned from the hospital empty-handed. "Don't worry," he whispered. "We will be fine without the children. As long as I am with you everything is fine with life."

A cloud of memory hung over his head. It was very hard to stop, but the memory was not his only grip. With his diagnosis, he and Darrell had prepared the memories, selected the most special ones, and sent them in boxes. His plan was to present Sarah with memories after her departure, but he also knew that he would use them to ease her grief.

Sara released the memory from the cherry box. It swam and wandered around the room, then descended like a flash from Darrell's shoulders. His face is relaxed, quiet, and firm. And so is the burden upon him.

Sarah slipped through the empty boxes and went to her boyfriend's side. Holding his hand is not smooth. Speaking in his ear the words were directed at him alone.

She rolled her eyes, her husband looking at her one last time. Her smile was bright and soft and all the memory she would ever need.

He kissed her one last time as the light faded from his eyes. And with a kiss, the memories come back to her, gentle and sweet, with the promise that she will never be alone.