Riches To Be Found In The Attic

I had promised mom I would help her clean the attic and today was that day. Having looked up there, I could see why mom asked for help. While she would be physically able to deal with the boxes and items up there, the sheer amount of it would be overwhelming for anyone. Having given my word and I would be nice about it, but I was thinking that getting a shovel and plowing it out the window would deal with all of it.

I almost dreaded going up there, not knowing which of my own memories I might come across. Was I really ready for this? I had grown up in this house so there would be a lot to deal with. Only doing it would tell me if these were memories I would want to stir up.

Trying to make up my mind on where to begin, I see a box for jewelry. I did not remember seeing it before so I knew it was not mine. Sitting down I opened it up to see what treasures it might hold. Right on top is this stunning antique engagement ring. I walk over to mom to ask about it. With tears streaming down her face she starts to tell me the story about her first love.

When she has finished speaking I realize that there are parts of her life that I was not aware of. I wondered how many other secrets she harbored in her heart. I realized at that moment that helping her in the attic might get me more than having a sore back. The next box beckoned me on.

When I went off to college I had left things behind because I was concerned that my new city friends would laugh at my country things. Such was the case of my treasures box. I had placed things that were important to me in this box. So what was in there after all these years? Opening it up and I see my rhodium earrings. They were given to me when I graduated and were just as pretty now as they had been then. I gingerly placed them in my shirt pocket and went on to the next box.

Winter was written all over the next box I grabbed. Opening it up I found girls sweatshirts that my sister and I had outgrown years ago. Mom must have placed them up here one year and then left them when she realized we would have outgrown them by the following winter. They could be donated to the thrift shop.

While mom and I got a lot of work accomplished that day, that was not what was important. What was important were the memories that we shared as we opened boxes and looked at items from our shared past as well as from our private times. Times like that are what memories are made of.

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