Harbouring memories of a stranger

The other day, I went out to throw the garbage, when I stumbled onto something.

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It was a small box, cardboard, black, covered with paper on a few sides.

On the front side, on a square piece of white paper, there was a little picture of two cracked eggs with two kids peeking out of it. The text around said, “Oh Hello there, Papa. This is just a small gift of appreciation for all the things you have done for me and Didi (sister in Hindi). Open it Papa.”

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On the bottom side to the front, it had, “Happy Birthday; Surprise box”, inscribed.

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That was it. Oh, and it has an ornamental heart taped to it on the front too.

Inside it, it had a paper envelope. The opening read, “These are the gifts Papa. And Papa, Enjoy Yourself.”

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Even inside I found a little piece of paper with a sweet little drawing and some words behind.

They read, “We are a great family to the three you are our only hope.”

Just below, was a tiny plea, “Please always keep us three happy.”

My heart was floored.

This little child’s creation of sweetness for their dad’s birthday found me smiling and full of memories. I felt as though I had stumbled on a private piece of someone’s life; one that we, the lucky ones are fortunate to have but don’t appreciate or be thankful for enough.

Through out our lives, me and my sister have made sweet little cards for our parents, much like the one I found.

In similar practice, these cards are given to the respective parent, liked, kept and then over time lost their value. Sure, my parents have always kept these cards, but their importance vanes and they become forgotten.

This lost piece of memory found it’s way into my lap and my heart. It reminded me of me, my family, of jagged pieces fitting together, of small favors, of just being through the good, the bad and the ugly.

I suppose we can only blame human nature for it settling where I finally found it. But that’s all right I think, another birthday will come around soon enough to change that.

Till then, I’ll be hoping this box reaches the hands of another, and it does what it did for me for them.

For nostalgia’s sake,
Beez.