A few weeks ago, I was digging through stuff and found an all but forgotten about box. I kind of have a love/hate relationships with those kind of boxes. Im intrigued by them, and I cant just put them back. If I find it, I have to open it – knowing the contents might be less than pleasurable…and that might have been the reason I had forgotten it.
But last week I found a box of mixed memories…the kids and I poked through them, laughing and making a few comments before putting the lid on and setting it aside.
A box of pictures. Pictures from when they were little, pictures from when they were younger. Pictures of the past. The all but, sometimes, forgotten past.
It was fun, going through the pictures with them, listening to them chatter and make up stories about what was going on – knowing they really had no idea – after all, how does one know what a three year old is up to? I flipped back and forth on believing they were once that small, and refusing to believe that they are no longer that little.
But the real reason I put the lid back on, was there were other things in there that I didn’t want to go through. Not right then. Not with them. Call it wrong. There are some things I cant go through with other people, and the kids are just some of those people.
Once I got it sorted, we took another look at what lay inside. Knowing that there is something on their minds probably not as much as mine…
She almost seems taboo. As if saying her name will somehow make someone else think something that will somehow hurl them back. Every so often someone mentions her, and we talk about her. But sort of like the box…it always has a lid put back on it because things get too out of control.
Amongst the snow ball fights, birthday parties, beach adventures and fishing trips…there laid, nestled in-between, standing tall beside, and pouting it out alone…our Molly.
It was quiet for the first few seconds that we flipped through things, but much like being around her…it was impossible to keep quiet…and so it started…
“Ohhh I remember that” someone squeaked.
“That was when…” someone else finished.
It wasn’t long before her name was being tossed around like a well worn baseball. There was laughter. Remembering. Stories. And then a slight pause…
Followed by more laughter.
Because that’s kind of how it was with Molly.
You never really knew what was going on in her mind, or what she was going to do next. One shot she would be smiling, the next you would get the empty face followed shortly after by a smile or a fat lip.
She was full of attitude. The queen of drama. Rough and tough, yet sensitive.
She had her own way about things. Her mind was made up, and there was no changing what she knew to be truth. She was the learn it the hard way, every time sort of girl…and no one would trade that about her.
Behind the smeared peanut butter lay the face of wild, rambunctious, confusing, stubborn, frustrating girl.
And then there were these.
Taken by yours truly.
They sum her up better than any picture of her ever could. She was random. Every inch of her was random. Yet it meant something to her. She had a reason for everything she did, and if I took the time to hear her out, and understand what she was saying between sobs and screams – it made sense.
If you knew her, like I hope you know her…you will understand why when we got to these, we all smiled…
It was Molly…and there wasn’t any other way around it.