I truly thought that one day, our grandchildren would go thru those “treasures” and want to hear the stories attached to them.
Bob and I often talked about what Trouble we were in for as grandparents…We’d be shopping and see things and remark how we’d have to buy this or that… A miniature Mini Cooper – or hey, a VW- a child can ride or a giant sized Lego pirate set or a child-size Red Sox baseball glove or the most adorable dollhouse ever made…And on and on and on…
It’s all only memories now.
And the absolute worst part about that?
The memories are mine alone.
When I’m dead, my son and daughter will just throw the box away.
It will all be gone.
When I’m dead, they’ll die with me.
How could this have happened? If he remembers any of it, he would be here. How could he not? But he obviously doesn’t. None of it – none of me – matters.
It wasn’t supposed to end this way.
But it will.
All the reminders of Bob…
And the love that was once so carefully and happily folded and tucked along side every souvenir and remembrance in that box is now just replaced with heartbreak and tears.
And lots and lots and lots of regret.