Hey everyone, I hope you’re all doing well. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to post this, but I felt like I needed to share. Maybe to make sense of things, or just to breathe. So, here goes.
Last weekend, I decided to clean out my attic. It’s been a while, and as you might expect, it was packed with forgotten boxes and old things that hadn’t seen daylight in years. Dust filled the air, dancing in the shafts of light that pierced through the small window. I sneezed, laughed at myself for being such a packrat, and dug into the heaps of memories.
Halfway through, I stumbled upon an old cardboard box that simply had ‘Mom’s’ written across it in faded black marker. I hesitated, feeling a pang of nostalgia. My mother passed away when I was 15, and I’ve always been a little afraid of memories tied to her—afraid of the grief that might resurface. But something compelled me to open it.
Inside, I found a collection of her journals, a few photographs, and some random trinkets I barely remembered. One of them was a small, ornate music box, its once glossy surface now dull and a bit chipped. I remembered that box. It used to sit on her dresser, and as a child, I would often wind it up and listen to its delicate tune.
It was a lullaby. One she used to hum to me when I couldn’t sleep; its melody a comfort in the dark.
With a trembling hand, I wound it up. The soft, tinkling notes filled the room, bringing with them a flood of memories. I closed my eyes and could almost feel her arms around me, her voice whispering the words of the song. It was bittersweet—a beautiful reminder of her love and the void her absence left behind.
As the last notes lingered, something shifted inside the box. Curious, I picked it up and saw that the velvet lining had come loose. Beneath it, there was a small piece of paper, yellowed with age. I unfolded it carefully.
It was a letter. Addressed to me.
“My dear Emily,
If you’re reading this, it means I’m no longer there with you, and you’ve found the music box. I hope it brings you as much comfort as it did me. I know I’ve left many things unsaid, and there’s so much I wish I could have told you.
There is something you should know. When you were born, I was scared. Scared of not being good enough, of failing you. But every night, as I watched you sleep, I realized I had been given the greatest gift—the chance to love you, to be your mother. The lullaby you hear now was my promise to you, that I would always be there, even if not in person.
Please remember, you are never alone. My love is with you always, through every step, every decision. Be strong, my beautiful girl.
Love always, Mom.”
I sat there on the dusty floor, tears streaming down my face, as a profound truth washed over me. I had always felt a void, a silent fear of not being worthy of love, of not being enough. But in that moment, I understood. That void was filled with her love, always had been. I just hadn’t seen it.
The music box played its soft tune again. This time it felt different, warmer, like a gentle embrace. I realized my mother had never truly left. Her love was a melody that had been echoing in my heart all along.
After I composed myself, I sat there for a long time, reflecting on the way her words had touched me, how they brought a new clarity. It was as if she had given me permission to let go of the doubts I’d clung to for so long.
When I finally got up, the box cradled in my arms, I felt lighter. She had shown me the truth hidden within those quiet moments we shared—love never truly fades. It lingers like a song, waiting to be embraced.
Thank you for reading. I think I needed this. More than I realized. If any of you are struggling with loss or feeling alone, know that you are loved more than you can imagine, even when you can’t see it.
Take care, everyone.
Emily