Sentimental (Boxes)

When my husband asks me what I want for holidays and special occasions, most recently for Mothers Day, I typically say, an "experience." Don't get me wrong. I like "things, " too, and have been spoiled with many of them. But I would rather have a picnic, a day at the zoo, a long drive with good coffee, great music, and stimulating conversation. Because experiences mean so much to me, I feel compelled to preserve them in some way. I kept a journal during my pregnancy, for example, to detail kicks, cravings, and the like, and am very diligent about recording my baby's milestones and taking her pictures. Every year, there is a special Christmas ornament that David and I pick out and purchase together that, ideally, reflects our year together in some way. There is this blog, which recounts my life with and love for Huan. And there are Sentimental Boxes.

Sentimental Boxes in the Diina home are very modest cardboard boxes that reside in the basement. I think the first I started was after David and I got married. I would have to rifle through its contents to recall in specificity everything that's in it. From what I remember, there is sand from our honeymoon, wedding cards, cards and notes David and I have written to each other, and the like. I still put things in it; or, rather, I often hand an item to David with the simple directive,"Sentimental"; and down to the basement he goes to store it. Once Grace was born, I started one for her. It includes cards from family, pictures, hand and foot clay imprints, her parents' first Mothers and Fathers Day cards to each other, her first birthday invite, her newborn hospital hat, etc. And when Bubba passed away, he got his very own box, too.

It stores the following:

• Huan's holiday attire: Halloween lions mane, Easter bandanna, Christmas antlers and bow;
• his leash, prong collar, and old cloth collar (more on his most recent cloth collar in a later post);
• grooming supplies: ear cleaner, toothbrush and paste, nail clippers;
• medicines: remaining heartworm and Glycoflex;
• treat jar (with remaining treats);
• his food and water bowls, as well as the measuring cups we used to scoop his food and a baggy containing 3 cups of food (enough for one meal);
• a note that hung above his food bowls in the kitchen with feeding instructions and important phone numbers for reference when my dad would come over to watch him;
• the last towel we used to wipe his muddy paws and drooly jowls;
• his two favorite Nyla-bones and the last rawhide he chewed on after a spa treatment;
• vaccination and neutering records;
• a baggy of Huan's baby teeth, at least whatever ones I found lying on our apartment floors seven years ago;
• a copy of my very first blog post, "Diina Dog Days: For the Love of Bubba";
• the pajama bottoms I wore the night Huan died in my arms, because they still have his hair and drool on them (maybe I will write about that day someday, but not today);
• a copy of a beautiful (and pretty impressive) Shakespearean sonnet my dad wrote in honor of Bubba after he passed away;
• all of the condolence cards friends and family sent.

I don't know that I will ever open Bubba's box again. What's important is that it's here, that his things reside in my home as much as he, himself, remains in my heart. Would some people say it's weird to save drooly pjs and partially eaten dog bones? Maybe. I don't care. I call it sentimental.