Posted in Living


grandma collage

The personal, life events of the last eight days have brought to mind a song I wrote many years ago when a dear friend of mine was having to say goodbye to the last member of her immediate family.  Last Wednesday, I lost my last grandparent.  She was almost 92.  I look forward to seeing her again in that amazing place where there are many rooms.

For now, I wanted to share the lyrics that reflect a little bit of what we all have to go through at some point or another:


It was just a pile of boxes,
labelled by a shaky hand.
And I knew this day was coming,
but it’s not the way I planned.
50 years of family living,
all packed up and put away.
And it’s not the way I planned it,
but the boxes go today.

There’s the box of Mama’s trophies,
15 years of county fairs,
quilts crafted through hard winters,
with a hint of country air.
There’s my daddy’s favorite novels,
all Jack London ever wrote.
He’d read to us on Sundays,
his voice ringing with pure notes.
There’s the photo of my sister,
chasing butterflies in Spring.
She’s the girl that I remember,
but her memory’s all I bring.

What I wouldn’t give
to hear my daddy’s voice again,
see my sister’s curly hair,
smell my mama’s smooth, clean skin.
50 years of family living,
all wrapped up and put away.
And it’s not the way I planned it,
but the boxes go today.

And I place the generations,
in piles to give away.
And a part of me goes with it,
but I can’t afford to stay,
wrapped in memories while my own kids
wait at home for my return.
Closing down the family homestead
feels just like a bridge that’s burned.


 Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.  (John 14:27)



I am a 40-something Texan with a feisty cat and a supportive husband of 20 years. With a Master's degree in English with an emphasis on creative writing, I have taught creative writing at Texas Tech, won awards for my writing and been blessed to be mentored by Horn Professor and poet Dr. Walt McDonald. I earn a living by helping my husband's family run a health food store, but my avocation is writing. I hope you enjoy reading about some of my triumphs and tragedies as I continue to work on figuring out what life is all about and on growing my ability to share my writing. May your own journey be a blessed one.

One thought on “Boxes

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