If you want to get technical, my brain is a treasure chest of memories. Since I’ve had a MRI, I guess theoretically, I could scan and embed a picture of it. However, as the radiologist’s report spelled out that my brain was “unremarkable,” I’ll spare us all the embarrassment.
Luckily, I have my maternal grandma’s “Treasure Chest of Memories,” a collection of her memories. But that’s not all I have.
My Grandpa’s Chest of Memories
I also have chest that my paternal grandpa had in during WWI. For decades, my Grandma Wilkinson, then my mother, stored memorabilia in it. It went largely ignored during the last fifty or sixty years. Only after my grandmother’s story of being an orphan was debunked a few years ago, did I start exploring it in earnest. (See My Story.)
In this chest were WWI portraits of two of my grandmother’s brothers. Those photos alone are treasures. While they don’t explain what made her sever and deny her connections to her family, they do stand as testament that her brothers weren’t the cause of it.
The box also contains photos, letters, Christmas cards, scrapbooks, articles, and mementos. Looking through it, I now know my dad first donated blood in 1952. Letters between my mother and her siblings reveal their loving relationships. I also found this home-made valentine my mom made for my dad. It also contains things that twist at my heart: funeral programs, obituaries, and wills. Seeing that my parents saved every letter I wrote from overseas makes me feel guilty that I didn’t take the time to write more.
Do You Have Other Ideas or Comments? I’d love to hear your thoughts. Click on the “comments” icon in the top right corner of this post. For a “Treasure Chest” example read “Love Notes.“