Before the holidays last year, my
Grandmother passed away; I went
to her house to help pack that
day. In the attic, I found a box, a
mystery with a lock. It had a label,
“To be opened, never more”; I picked
it up gently laying it on the floor.
Should I, or should I not, I mumbled
turning about, the suspense was more
than I could take, I wanted to scream
and shout. The message I understood,
I was at granny’s house, do not touch
she would say about her many things
and I was always good and quiet like a
little church mouse.
I would not try to pick the lock or break
into this mystery box, with its label and
its lock. I thought of that good child and
wanted to be the same, I wanted to open
it no one would know; I picked up a
hammer and broke open the lid. It seems
that only granny’s eyes had seen the box and
now she was dead!
Inside were letters neatly tied with pink ribbon,
I held them in my hand and I wonder if this
treason of mine would be forgiven. They were
addressed to my granny, the return was a
“strange” name, and I wondered if this man and
my papa could have been the “same”.
I open the first one, my granny was telling this
stranger that he had a son, and oh… of that fact
did she dread. It was not until I opened the last
one from my papa who was telling her, their
good friend would not come back from the war;
he was dead.
I cried, I took the box and letters tossing them
away, telling my granny in Heaven the secret with
me would stay. My papa caught me by the
fireplace; he patted my hand saying “Let them burn,
wipe the tears from your face. It all happened,
before she married me and he knew that Joe was not
my son”. You see, my papa was a gentleman;
and I am certain that his personal war before Uncle
Joe’s birth had already been won.
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