Hey everyone, I never thought I’d share something this personal on here, but tonight feels like the right moment. You all know me as someone upbeat and positive, but there’s a part of my past I’ve kept hidden for a long time, and it’s time to finally face it.
It all started with a shoebox. A nondescript, slightly dusty shoebox sitting on the top shelf of my closet. It had been there forever, or at least as long as I can remember. I always ignored it, thinking it was just a collection of old birthday cards and trinkets from my high school days. But last week, as I was reorganizing my closet, I decided to take it down.
The box wasn’t locked, but it was sealed with that invisible barrier of forgotten memories we all know too well. Inside, I found the usual suspects—a tangle of friendship bracelets, some photographs, and then something that caught my eye: a folded note in familiar handwriting. It was from my mother.
My mother passed away when I was 16, and her loss left a gaping hole in my life. I spent years moving through the fog of grief, never really allowing myself to deal with the pain or confront the memories. This note was from a time when she was battling cancer, a few months before she died. I must have hidden it away in a moment of avoidance, a cowardly attempt to dodge the inevitable.
With trembling hands, I unfolded the note. Her words, scrawled in blue ink, were as vibrant and clear as if they’d been written yesterday. She wrote about her hopes for me, her regrets, and, most poignantly, her love. She expressed things she never had the strength to say out loud—how she wished she could have been stronger, how sorry she was for leaving too soon, but most importantly, how proud she was of me.
Reading those words, I felt a range of emotions I couldn’t hold back. I let out a sob, one that had been building for years, locked away in the cage of my heart. Her words were a mirror reflecting back every moment of love I had tried to bury with her memory.
I was overwhelmed with an intense need to apologize—for not being there enough, for not understanding the depth of her struggle, for being a rebellious teenager who didn’t grasp the finality of our time together. But more than that, I felt a sense of release. Her note was a gift, a final piece in the puzzle of my grief.
I spent the next few days sitting with that note, allowing myself the grace to feel everything it brought to the surface. Memories flooded back, some painful, some beautiful, and I realized how much I had let the fear of forgetting her dictate my life.
Coming back to this moment, sharing this with you all, is my way of saying that I’m ready to move forward. For the first time, I feel like I can carry her memory in a way that honors her spirit instead of trapping me in the past.
The shoebox is back on the shelf, but now it holds a different kind of meaning. It’s a reminder that the truth, no matter how hidden, has a way of unfolding when we’re ready to receive it. And with that truth comes growth and healing, a journey I’m finally ready to embrace.
Thank you for listening, for being a part of this moment of clarity. If there’s anything my mother’s note taught me, it’s that love is eternal, even when words are not.
Love and light to you all,
Emily.