The Story Behind The Box

When my mother knew she was dying, she took my sister and me aside separately to help her “clean out her things.” She lived simply with few possessions but divvied out to each of us what she wanted us to have. She really only had costume jewelry, nothing expensive, and had a jewelry box, but she also kept a few pieces in this small, slightly dinged, red tin box that once held Johnston’s Chocolates. All I recall when she gave it to me was that she’d always been told it belonged to Grandpa Henson (her father’s father). People used to save good boxes like that, especially wooden or tin for keepsakes or whatever. And that’s all I know. Because we were dealing with her illness , entry into a nursing home, hospice six weeks later, and her death three weeks thereafter, I never had the presence of mind to ask her any more questions. I took the box home and put it on my dresser.

Weeks later, as I was stretching one day, the box caught my eye. My mind started churning. What if that box is all one knew about one’s family or heritage? What a great premise for a book! I thought, before I’d ever even considered taking a writing class much less writing a book.

That stuck with me, and about three years later, when I took my first writing class, the box kept popping up, always a constant in my stories, until I was compelled to give it a history. My made up version of where it came from:  Ireland. I do have Irish ancestry, but no knowledge of anywhere in particular. I’ve never explored my genealogy because I have been so busy researching and writing.

My sense that the box is, indeed, inspirational for my creative process was affirmed by a friend who went on a Celtic spirituality tour in Ireland and texted me, “Today, our Celtic guide said you don’t write a book, it demands to be birthed by you.”