What We Leave Buried Behind

Jacob stood at the edge of the woods behind his childhood home. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows on the ground, and the air smelled of pine and old leaves. He hadn't been here in over twenty years, not since he was seventeen and angry at the world.

Now, at forty, after losing his job and going through a quiet divorce, he was back.

His mother’s old house was quiet now, filled with dust and memories. She had passed last spring, and now the property was his. It didn’t feel like a gift. It felt like a box full of things he wasn’t ready to open.

But he knew what he had to do. There was something buried out there in the woods. Something he had left behind.


---

When Jacob was twelve, he had a best friend named Eric. They did everything together—played baseball, rode bikes, and built forts in the forest. They had even made a secret hideout under an old tree. It wasn’t much, just a hole in the ground covered with boards and branches. But to them, it was a castle, a spaceship, and a pirate ship all in one.

One day, after school, they brought a small metal box to the hideout. Inside it were drawings, comic books, toy cars, and a note that read:
"To our future selves: Don't forget who you were. Keep dreaming. - J & E."

They buried it under the tree and promised to come back when they were grown up.

But they never did.


---

When Jacob was fifteen, Eric moved away. His father got a job in another state. They tried to stay in touch, but time and distance pulled them apart. A few years later, Jacob heard Eric had joined the army. Then nothing.

Now, standing among the trees, Jacob found the old tree again. It was thinner than he remembered, but the knot on the trunk and the bent branch above were the same.

He started digging.

The ground was hard, and the roots had grown thick. But after a while, he hit something solid. He wiped the dirt away and pulled up the metal box. It was rusted but still whole.

Jacob sat down, his back against the tree, and opened it.

Inside were the comics, faded and torn at the edges. The toy cars were scratched. The note was yellow and fragile, but still readable.

He smiled.

Then he saw something new.

A folded paper. He didn’t remember putting it there. It had his name on it, written in Eric’s handwriting.

His hands trembled as he opened it.


---

"Jacob,

If you’re reading this, then you remembered. That’s good. I hoped you would.

I wrote this the night before we moved. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to cry in front of you.

You were my best friend, and I wanted to say thank you.

I don’t know where life will take us, but I hope you stay kind, stay strong, and keep drawing those superheroes you always talked about.

Remember, the world needs people like you—even if they don’t always show it.

Don’t bury your dreams. Don’t bury who you are.

Eric."

Jacob read the note twice. Then a third time. He felt something crack open inside him. Something he had buried long ago—his joy, his hope, his dreams.

He had wanted to be an artist once, drawing comics and telling stories. But somewhere along the way, he stopped. Life had gotten heavy, and he had buried that part of himself, just like the box.

Tears rolled down his cheeks—not from sadness, but from remembering.

He stood up, holding the letter close.

As he walked back to the house, a thought took root in his mind.

Maybe it wasn’t too late.

Maybe, what we bury isn't lost forever.

Maybe, just maybe, we can dig it up again.

And start fresh.