It’s called a Hope Chest. I have one of these, received as a gift from my parents when I finished college.



I first filled it to supply an imagined future of hopes and dreams.  Within a few years, I unpacked those things into the every day life of marriage, and parenthood. At the same time I stowed away a few soft childhood mementos kept safe for my children. My very real, not imaginary at all, children smacked it hard a few times way back then.


When we made a cross-country move, the ‘careful’ movers left marks as well. Older children leave to set up house, so I send on their special things to their new places. All too soon, I realized it’s final use.






I carefully set into the newly opened spaces the photos, papers, and precious relics of my son’s life.

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