In recent years, I received a box courtesy of an international security parcel company. The executrix, who was a keen amateur genealogist, did not have the heart to dispose of the personal papers of my close relative. The contents of the box were very interesting but I found it was a sad journey going through the papers. The box was re-secured and put away.

A few years later, I was creating a similar box, this time, for my mother. I still have this box, open and waiting………for what?

Another loved one’s life sits in a suitcase, yet to be transferred to a box. She became an order number. How surreal to leave this life to be just a number identifier for an invoice.

I have started collating my own memorabilia now. At least, I guess, I can choose what style of container I can put mine in.


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