Afghan, barking dogs, and a box by Daniel Fear

I hope this is how this works. Here is my first post! Enjoy.

The Box. By Daniel Fear

I was wrapped snuggly under the afghan my Mother had crocheted for me. It was the best afghan in the old drafty house. The stitching was done from my three favorite colors of brown, tan and green. Mom had used a wavy pattern. I really love this afghan. I watched her for hours, as she would work on it while I was a kid. Now, I cling to it for hours at a time. It will be treasured forever and will bring me comfort only a mother can give. My Mom is now gone, but the love in the afghan still comforts me.

The weather outside was atrocious. Cold, blistery, windy, snowy, foggy, and just generally crappy! Especially for someone that craves warmer weather. What am I doing this far north? Anyway, I’m not going to go outside anytime soon, so I will stay under my afghan! I’m just going to sit here and keep watching my favorite daytime TV programs. Besides, I only watch them when I feel like this. That is, I feel so good that you could stab me in the eye with a spoon and I would think it was an improvement. The only thing making me remotely comfortable is the nice hot Constant Comment tea that just finished brewing and my two trusting dogs curled up on top of the afghan. One of them a pure-bred mutt named Honey; and the other a great and fantastic Dachshund named Prince DaShaR; or Prince for short (inherited of course, again from my Mother).

As I usually do when feeling ill and watching my favorite daytime TV, the History Channel, Science Channel and Military Channel, I was beginning to doze off when my wonderful cozy foot warmers turned into an Early Warning System – the dogs began barking endlessly! I’m not sure what they were barking at, but it was quite cacophonous and really down right annoying. They continued barking and jumping, jumping and barking, bouncing, and jumping and barking. If there had been someone dead in my house, they would have stirred…what could possibly have set them off so badly. I wasn’t expecting any visitors, especially in my current state.

After running out of throw pillows to toss at the EWS, I begrudgingly extracted myself from warmth of the afghan and the comfort of the couch to peak outside and see what was could possibly be going on. There was nothing out of place, nothing overtly disturbed, but to my surprise a small wooden box had appeared. Intricate in construction and simple in decoration, it sat neatly in the snow just off of the front step of the house. My curiosity piqued, I threw open the door danced outside, scooped up the box and launched myself back through the door hoping to move fast enough so the cold air wouldn’t be able to catch me. Man, I hate being cold!

I jumped over the back of the couch and quickly snuggled back up under the afghan. The Early Warning System had turned itself off and they had resumed the duty of cozy foot warmers as I began to stop shivering and started to puzzle over the little wooden box. Absolutely quaint in every way, I was completely puzzled by it. A plain pine box with a dark stain stared curiously up at me. There were no hinges, but it seemed to fit together like a shoebox. There was a very simple carving of a frog on the top of the box and the letters DSR were neatly etched into the bottom. This was surprising and comforting all at the same time. My Mother’s initials were D.S.R, Diana Sue Rogers (Rogers being her maiden name), and frogs were her favorite item to collect.

I found this surprising because my Mother had passed away over a year ago, a victim of cancer at the age of 54. Mom created an atmosphere of love and support all through my childhood for my brothers and I. That sense of love and support has continued into our adult hood. She had been a solid partner for my father and a devout Christian. Her love has continued to amaze me over the past 14 months and will continue to give me the same strength for the rest of my life. So, to find this small token that appeared to be from my mother was quite unexpected. This little box brought an instant sense of comfort.

I decided that I needed to open this little box, so I did. Inside I found a piece of paper neatly folded to fit perfectly inside. I carefully pulled it out and tenderly unfolded it. The paper was aged and discolored. It had frogs and roses stenciled along the edge as a border. Inside that border written in my Mom’s script was a letter, with no date, but addressed to my daughter and me. Yep, my daughter! She is a precocious two, and my Mother had the privilege of spoiling her for nearly 18 months. During that short amount of time at such an early age for my daughter, she created that same sense of love and support that I had shared with Mom. They were wonderful moments to watch!

This is what I read:

To my Son and Granddaughter:

I love you both more than can be measured. You will have fun learning from each other while you both continue on your paths.

Son, always remember that patience is the most important part of raising a child. When that little girl is destroying the house, remember to first smile, breathe and then put things back together.

Granddaughter, I love you and had hoped to teach you all the things that a Grandmother is supposed to teach a grandchild, but I’m not going to get that opportunity. Just always remember that I love you!

With all of my love forever,

Mom and Nana

I no longer felt as ill as I had earlier in the day. Now I couldn’t wait for the end of the day when my daughter would come home and I would be able share this new discovery with her. The laughter and joy we would share this afternoon will make my Mom smile down on us. Even with her gone from day to day life, she still knows how to make me feel better.