Music Box Dancer, Secret Keeper

When I was a little girl, my favorite aunt, champion, warrior and kindred spirit, gave me a beautiful music box. It was light blue outside with brass hinges and a brass latch. The inside was lined with baby blue satin and had many compartments for a young girl's treasures. And the balerina was beautiful, with brown hair just like mine, as she twirled in perfect time to Greensleeves. I remember hiding my treasures in the music box and locking the tiny padlock for safekeeping. The music box was special because of who gave it to me. Everytime I looked at it, or placed treasures in the little compartments, or wound it up the watch the tiny dancer, I thought of my aunt. I thought of how much she loved me and how much I loved her. I am told that from the time I could talk, whenever I was sad, mad, sick or too tired, I would cry unconsolably until my parents would call my aunt and put her on the phone so I could talk to her. My earliest memories are of me spending time on the phone or spending time in person with her. Growing up we would make the 45 minute drive to her house at least 2 weekends per month. I can still hear the sound of the screen door closing as I walked in the door, I can smell the familiar scent of home cooked meals and my aunt's favorite White Rain fabric softener and my uncle's Old Spice cologne. For me, that little yellow house was 600 square feet of unconditional love, acceptance and understanding. Our special relationship continued though my high school years including many school breaks and summer vacations. My memory can still smell the fresh scent of line-dryed sheets on the hide-a-bed. Then my college years when I called every Sunday night from Oaklahoma just to talk about our weeks. Then into the early years of my career when I lived close by and visited at least every week. Then back to traveling when I moved 45 minutes away. One thing was always true. We talked about everything. And nothing. I learned that laughter and joy serve as a balm for many hurts. I learned that perserverance in the face of hard circumstances builds character. I learned that mother nature was a heartless jailer who slowly imprisioned the heart of the young 20 something girl trapped in the failing body of an 80 year old woman. The same woman who had beat throat cancer in her 60s was, 20 years later, realizing debilitating, long-term side effects of radiation that would eventually take her life. Even though she has been gone 10 years, I find myself wishing I could just ring her up. I still have her long disconnected phone number programmed into my phone, only the touch of a button away. I want to tell her so many things and ask her advice on the many changes and challenges I'm facing right now. I want to tell her that I understand how she felt when her mind was sharp but her body was weak. I want to mull over decisions that need making, I want to laugh about funny stories as my spirits need lifting, but mostly, I just want her unconditional, loving shoulder to cry on. I think back to that music box. And the hopes and dreams and secrets hidden inside the gift and entrusted in the heart of its giver. And I mourn. I mourn the losses of the girl and the loss of her champion who would know just the right thing to say. And then she would tell the heart of the girl that she was loved. And the girl would believe again.