music box

She used to kiss my cheek and whisper “cherish each day.” The rhythms of her voice gently danced on my face. Looking back, I never quite knew what she met at such a young age. Through my years of time with her she kept a music box. Nothing fancy, just a simple wooden box. For the longest time, I never knew what she kept in there. Only sometimes I would walk past her bedroom, the door slightly cracked, and hear music. It became clear to me, whatever was in that music box meant a great deal to her. Sometimes I would walk in on her just closing the box; the music coming to a soft end. She would just look at me and gaze. Almost marveling like she never saw me before. Like I was still a newborn baby,

As I grew older I started to wonder more and more what could be in that music box. Teenage years and adolescence blinded me from seeing things from a simple angle and such the magic of the music box drifted away. Nevertheless, from day to day my mother would still have that look on her face. That “music box” look. Although things got loud and fast in my life, I still recognized her look of awe. How couldn’t I? The music box melody streaming in the background of my life like a constant love from a mother to a child.

In my 30’s life started to slow down, in unison as did my parents. They were growing older and time was slipping away. My mind starting bending back to what my mother would always tell me as a child: “cherish each day.” Something I was beginning to desire and something my parents were mastering. Age started to mature and humble me. I started spending more quiet time in my life. Reading, pondering and spending time with them. I learned quiet is good medicine for any cause or concern.

One day everything connected. The idea of the music box started making sense to me. I still didn’t know what it contained, but the idea of simple and pure enjoyment was a yearning I had gained in my older age. I approached my mother and asked if I could see the contents of the music box. To my surprise, she declined. She said softly “Sometimes, the journey is finding your own music box.” I took to her words. I understood. It would be simple for me to crack open this box. It would be a whole different thing to discover my own. “It’s something that finds you” She said, “Not something you look for.”

In my 50’s, My parents were talking slow and moving even slower. Unfortunately, time has a way of passing in a tricky yet constant manner. I spent many moments in thought pondering their lives and how I appreciated them so. The sacrifices they made, their discipline as parents and most importantly, their love for me. I started to wonder what kept them so strong, so in unison, so in immense enjoyment. Not only of each other, but of life also.

After my parents had passed, I went to their house to help box belongings. While cleaning, a twinkle from the corner of my eye sparked. Sitting peacefully, the metal from the music box shined in humbleness. Gently opening it, a paper appeared with my mom’s handwriting, underneath that paper were dozens of old photos of our family. The paper read as follows:”we’ve reached the end of our journey, son. Yours is just beginning, One picture a day is all you’ll need. Look at it, cherish it. These pictures are all you need to know what’s important in this life. When you’re having a rough day, week or year, know whats really matters. It’s in this box, thats all that matters.”

After that, I never went a day missing the opportunity to pull out a photo and just admire every inch of its contents. We need time daily to truly appreciate what is important to us. People, not things.

Whether you know it or not, all of us have a music box. It’s not about creating one, its about letting it find you. Find what’s really important to you and be true to who you are, thats the winning recipe. More significantly, work to prioritize your life in such a way that when your gone, someone, somewhere will say your life was worth living. If not for you, for them.