April 18, the anniversary of my father’s death, never gets past me. I always remember both of my parents’ birth dates on the day of, but most years, I overlook the date that my mother died until sometime after the fact. I think because that anniversary is on the first day of the month (June 1), and I rarely notice month changes in general. I do remember infinite details about both those days, in 1985 and 2008, but I agree with the concept that time is a great healer; even the saddest memories are much softer and always tempered by the better ones.
Because it’s Tiny Tuesday, I woke up with the idea of sharing this lacquer cigarette box, a gift to my father from the chief of police where he was last deployed in Korea before he retired. It’s been packed away for a while, and I’ve decided to display it with my other boxes.
A look inside. On the left is a compartment for holding a pack of cigarettes, maybe even some of the smaller cigar brands. That’s a cigarette lighter with a University of Alabama emblem I was given when I was in college, and since Daddy and I both graduated from there, this seems like a good place for it. On the right is an ashtray in pristine condition, so I know it was never used.
Inside the top is hand lettering to show the names of the giver and my father.
I wish one of his grandchildren or great-grandchildren would want this memento, but to date, none of them seem to have my sentimental (possible hoarding?) tendency. But as long as I’m around, this piece of my father’s history has a home.
I love you for so many reasons but one of them is the way you write about all the memories of our family and our childhood. I miss our Daddy so much.
Were there ever more poignant lyrics than Marvin Hamlisch, Marilyn Bergman, and Alan Bergman wrote?
Memories
Light the corners of my mind
Misty watercolor memories
Of the way we were
Scattered pictures
Of the smiles we left behind
Smiles we gave to one another
For the way we were
Can it be that it was all so simple then?
Or has time re-written every line?
If we had the chance to do it all again
Tell me, would we?
Could we?
Memories
May be beautiful and yet
What’s too painful to remember
We simply to choose to forget
So it’s the laughter
We will remember
Whenever we remember
The way we were
The way we were
Aaron must have gotten that sentimental thing from you. He was after me all the time about the genealogy that Dorothy had, he wanted it so bad but was afraid to ask for it. He had something sentimental that he kept for everyone he loved. Now I have it all packed away without the ability to open it. He was defiantly a Cochrane.
She would have loved sharing it all with him. I think David, more than Debby and me, likes filling in the blanks of our ancestors. I just found the research Mother did that showed she was descended from two men who fought in the American Revolutionary War. If the Cochranes haven’t been traced back to that point, I feel certain she relished letting the genealogists on that side of the family know her pedigree. 🤣 🤣 🤣