MAMA’S SECRET BOX

There’s no way to say this than to say it right up front and bluntly. Mama died in a plane crash. She was one of those 117 killed – as it appeared on the evening news – a number – 117 unknowns – unless you were related or connected to one of the 117 – unless you knew Mama – unless you were one of her 5 kids or 1 son -in-law or 4 daughter-in-laws – or one of her 14 grandkids – or a friend.

Mama – they called her “Mama.” In other families it’s mom or mother or what have you.

It was a horrible death – a very difficult funeral – and nobody really wanted to say anything – at the funeral parlor or the funeral Mass – at the cemetery or afterwards. It was too quick. Tears had to take the place of words. Holding onto each other was all the kids and grandkids could do.

Sometimes time helps. Time heals. A long drawn out suffering and then death – is often easier than a sudden death. Sudden deaths – too dramatic – too quick a cut – too often – too deep a wound. How and how old we are, when we die, makes a difference.

Mama’s Secret Box helped. They didn’t discover it till after the funeral when all five gathered at Mama’s house to sort things out.

Mama was a poet – a photographer – a short story writer – and a novelist – and nobody knew it – and nothing had been ever been published: her pictures, poems or stories.

But before we get into that, a few words about Mama are in order. Mama was mom all through the years – just mom – and a wonderful mom at that.

Mama lost daddy in the Vietnam War – and never married again. She tried a few dates – but no – she realized it wasn’t her. She raised their 5 kids: 4 girls and a boy – her youngest, Jack, – on her own.

All five of her kids finished college. All five kids married. All five – like Mama always did - went to Sunday Mass. All five kids and their families are doing well – very well.

Mama – was fiercely independent – wanting her kids not to worry about her – to grow up and get on with their lives – to be independent like she was. She knew the importance of “self-skills” just in case something happened. You never know what’s going to appear on our personal family evening news.

Oh, she was always there, when wanted. She loved being a mom. She loved being a grandma. She enjoyed baby sitting – any of her 14 grandkids, but if the in-law grandparents wanted to baby sit – go for it.

For starters then, Mama was calm, cool, laid back, independent. This would be her #1 characteristic. Somehow you never felt pressure from her. Her kids were all A students – without nagging on her part in any shape or form through their school years. How she was able to broadcast this was something her 5 kids would start to talk about as adults on phone calls and especially on the long Thanksgiving weekends which they all got together for every year.

It takes adult time to figure out who our parents really are – and many times only after their death. Of course, it would be better if we talked about these kinds of things while we have time with our parents – like long car rides or walks – but this doesn’t happen enough. With these 5 it was really only after Mama died. They had to admit to each other they knew all the mom stuff – but they didn’t know enough about their mom – and then there was dad – dad getting killed in Vietnam so many years ago and they were so, so young.

But now they had Mama’s Secret Box. This was her great unexplained gift to them. Whether she would have wanted them to have it and its contents – they might never know – because she died so suddenly and so violently.

She was on her way to Florence, Milan, Rome and Naples, Pompeii and the Amafi Coast – a tour – on her own with a group she met up with at the airport. She loved her trips. She considered them after the kids were raised “Mom Rewards” – and she had the money from her very successful real estate agency. It got her kids through college. It now got her to see the world.

Wait a minute! I got to get back to Mama’s Secret Box, but I also have to say a few more quick things about money right here, right now. Mama’s will was also a wonderful surprise. The house, the savings, the insurance, all were to be divided equally and evenly. “There were to be no fights over money.” It said exactly that in her will. The house was paid off. And mom had a great insurance policy – and money in the bank – with some good investments. This all took place before the recent recession or depression we’re going through. She learned from the death of her husband in the Vietnam War to take out big time insurance. And there was to be a nice money package because of the plane accident.

Now to that box: Mama’s Secret Box.

They – all five of them – were there in Mama’s bedroom – an arranged meeting in Mama’s house for all of them – one week after the funeral. They were to empty out her bureaus and closets and what have you. Opening drawers is much tougher than sorting out who wants what furniture and dishes and that kind of stuff.

Jack, the only son in the mix, felt a bit of reluctance – standing there in mom’s bedroom. He knew it would be a women’s task to sort out mom’s clothes and that kind of stuff. He had gotten boxes – and announced that he would take what they wanted to give away to Good Will. Till Dolores, the oldest, found Mama’s box, the 4 girls took their time sorting out clothes and what have – sorting out stories and tears about mom’s jewelry and clothes. Memories like perfume scent remain in loved one’s clothes.

Mama’s box was a decent size cardboard storage box – which she kept in her closet – on the floor – in the back. It was dark grainy cardboard brown. It had handles. It was just that: a cardboard storage box.

The girls placed it on her bed – as if it was the Ark of Covenant – the sacred biblical box.

All stood there – a bit nervous, a bit nosey, a bit excited – wondering what this box contained.

Since Dolores, the oldest, had found it, she opened it. No, it didn’t have dust or cobwebs – like something from a “Raiders from the Lost Ark” movie. It was clean – unscuffed –unscarred – and if they reflected upon it later, mom must have been quite gentle going back and forth putting in and taking out her box from that closet.

There were notebooks – lots and lots of tiny spiral notebooks. She wasn’t into computers. They wanted to buy her one – especially for e-mails. “No thanks,” said Mama. “I’m okay.”

Sarah, the second oldest said, “Uh oh! Did mom kept a diary?”

“That would be great,” Sandy, the youngest sister said.

Nope. Mom kept no diary. They were to discover she expressed her thoughts by her stories – and they were to find out that there were 28 of them – 28 short stories. There were about 50 photographs of trees. As they looked at them, Sandy said, “Wow. Mom liked trees. I didn’t know that.” And there were two novels – one finished – handwritten – with hundreds and hundreds of comments and rewrites. And there were lots and lots of poems.

Discovering these note books was like finding the Dead Sea Scrolls. “Surprise. We never knew they were there. Surprise. We never knew this about mom.”

The finished novel was entitled, “The Red, Yellow and Brown Leaves of October.” The second novel – the unfinished one – had three titles, “The Budding Green Leaves of April.” “Spring and the River Was Rising,” and “Spring: New Life Every Year.” “Wow, she was thinking sequel,” Mary the middle sister said.

This scene took place with all the sisters sitting on mom’s bed. It was not a tear time – or a time of laughter – it was unexperienced time.

There were moments of amazed silence as they glanced at the notebooks.

John, the youngest, the only son, began reading mom’s poetry. Her handwriting was impeccable. He read,

PEACH

The soft fuzz of peaches,
like the first time I held you,
my child – sacrament – gift –
unwritten book – what will
appear on your pages? – how
will you deal with the knife slices,
the cuts and sorrows of life?
But they are tomorrow’s questions.
Right now – today – this moment -
just be relaxed in a bowl
with my four other peaches.
Whatever happens, my little one.
You look delicious.

Then John said, “Wow, I wonder which of the five of us that one is about?”

And all four sisters said in unison, “John, it’s about you. You were her favorite.”

“Me? I didn’t know that. I always thought it was you four – because I was always so outnumbered – the only male in the house.”

“Okay,” said Dolores. “What do we do with her writings?”

And all 3 sisters and brother said, “Publish them!”

Mary, the middle and most literary of the 5 said, “I can see all of us on Oprah. But first, let’s divvy them up –- read everything – and see where that takes us.”

And that’s what they did. We never know about each other – till we know what’s in the closet.

[Intead of a homily on today's readings, the 5th Sunday of Easter, I decided to write a story last night. This is total fiction. Moreover I didn't know how to end it. Keep your eye on the best seller list for the rest of the story.]