The Box
To look at it is to conclude there is nothing special about it. It’s just a cardboard box. It’s perhaps six inches wide, that many deep, and about five inches tall. Granted, there is an air of elegance to its design – it’s silver, with a linen-textured embossing about its entire external surface. In an Olde English-looking script, words and phrases adorn the box in silver a couple shades lighter than the box itself. The cruelest of ironies, some of the phrases are things like: “Fond Memories,” “Family Traditions,” “Celebrate Life’s Gifts,” and “The Big Day.” I’ve opened this particular box maybe three times since last year. I’ve opened the box within even fewer times.
It was the 16th of June, 2008. I was due to put my 11-year-old daughter in the ground in a couple of hours. Finding something special to put in her eternal box was proving to be beyond trying. Because her death was so unexpected, I had no opportunity to bring something of more sentimental value.
I was combing Northwoods, the Peoria, Illinois mall for something – anything – that my little girl could be proud to take with her into the afterlife. I knew she liked Bobby Jack, a popular cartoon monkey. I knew she liked Chris Brown, the now-embattled R&B singer. Although I looked for trinkets with either the monkey or the singer, I knew in my heart that neither would be appropriate. I could say I was getting frustrated, but that would only begin to describe the never-ending swirl of emotions that made me unsure of even my footsteps.
I’d scoured the mall. I couldn’t find anything. I was infuriated and ready to throw in the towel. The funeral would be starting soon, and I would have to show up empty-handed – and empty-hearted. I swore to myself, I swore aloud. I cursed God yet one more time, “It’s not fucking fair! She’s just a baby!” I stormed through the mall, daring any of the unsuspecting shoppers to bump me, or smile at me, or even look in my direction – I was ready to channel my rage and despair anywhere. I hated everyone I saw instantly. Those with children drew my ire especially. Damn them, and damn their happy lives. It’s not fucking fair!!
I’d taken the steps to the lower-level of the mall, ready to head for the car, inexplicably on the opposite end from where I was parked. As I rounded a corner, I saw the shop. “Things Remembered.” Then (and I swear this is no exaggeration), I was literally pulled into the shop, down the far right side of the place, and directly to a section near the rear. “Now what?” I wondered, as I stood there, waiting for the revelation to complete itself.
The pink felt top and the slightly lighter pink bow that wraps the second box belies its true purpose. It was not a gift given in congratulations. There was no memento that recalls a birthday or a Christmas memory.
There. The epiphany was now complete. The angels beckoned almost audibly. I knew as soon as I saw them that they were what I was looking for the whole time. To write anymore of this, I must open this second box of three.
Perched upon a floral-bedecked foam green base concealing the twist-to-play music box, is the adult or mature angel. The angelic garb flowing, wings sprawled as if to show either pre-flight or (as I suspect) excitement and joy during movement – excitement and joy because s/he’s holding aloft an infant angel. The scene is one I’ve seen hundreds of times. There is pride, joy, love, and protection here. This baby angel is safe. Not even Satan and his minions would dare try to harm this baby.
My baby angel must have this to take with her. I picked it up without even a second’s thought, and carried it to the counter where I would have it inscribed with “Daddy’s Angel – Rest in Peace, Bethany.”
I didn’t know the tune that played when it’s twisted, and I still don’t. It was played and played and played in the chapel of the funeral home on that darkest of sunny days. There exists a large part of me that never wants to know what the music is. All that matters is that my little girl had something to carry with her, and an angel to guide her.
Another exact angel was bought for me to keep. Even the inscription is the same. I can’t set my gaze upon the angels within the pink box, which are set inside the larger silver gift box.
I mentioned a third box, didn’t I? The box that holds the most precious gift – the one box I never wanted to see closed.
She’s in it.
