Since publishing, Legacy, I keep thinking of other things that I wish I had included in the book. Discussions with some of my relatives also inspire ideas. One day, I may have to do as one cousin suggested, write Legacy II.
One thing that I might have written about, but didn’t is the music box. I recall seeing it while grandma was alive, but can’t remember if she kept it on the shelf of a small corner knickknack or on top of the old floor model TV. As far as I know, there isn’t anything special about the music box. It’s merely a keepsake for me. I received it, courtesy of a thoughtful aunt, who gave it to me after grandma died. “Just so you can have something that belonged to her,” she said.
Until a few weeks ago, when I was housecleaning, I had forgotten that I had the music box. I rediscovered it when I pulled a small cardboard box out of the closet. On top of numerous other odds and ends inside the box was the dusty music box. After glancing over the contents of the storage box, I hastily decided that I didn’t need any of the stuff and dumped all of it into a trash bag that I had placed on the floor near the closet. I picked up the strings, shook the bag a couple of times and was preparing to tie it up when the music box began playing a few notes. And then it stopped. Perhaps while shaking the bag, I had jarred the wind-up mechanism. I opened the bag, reached inside, removed the music box and then wiped off the dust on one pant leg of the old blue jeans that I was wearing for the cleanup. It was then that I remembered to whom the box had belonged.
The clear, hard plastic on top and all four sides of the music box makes it easy to see the two colorful butterflies and bright red roses inside. I guess that one of my relatives or a close friend of grandma’s gave her that music box. Perhaps it was a birthday or Christmas gift. When someone dies, gifts given to them while they were alive are sometimes regifted to their heirs or close family friends. Other times, unfortunately, gifts previously given are simply discarded along with unwanted furniture, clothing, and other household items.
I take a short break from cleaning, sit down in a chair and wind the mechanism to activate the music. It plays the beautiful song That’s What Friends are For. When the music stops playing, I wind it up again. Listening to the haunting melody saddens me. It stirs memories buried deep in my mind, reminding me of happy times spent, not only with grandma, but also my mother, my aunts and uncles, and many other relatives and friends who I knew and loved who are now deceased. I carry the music box over to my bed and place it on top of the bookcase on the headboard. As if I don’t already think often of grandma, now I will do so whenever I look at the music box.
It may have been just a spark of insight that made me retrieve that music box from the trash bag. But I like to think that grandma’s spirit tapped me on the shoulder and whispered in my ear in that commanding voice that I remember so well, “Girl, don’t you throw away that music box.”
Life is strange. Sometimes we do things without thinking. And sometimes, for reasons known only to God, a little voice reminds us not to do it.
♦ ♦ ♦
Legacy can be purchased by clicking this link on Amazon. com.