The Box

I was five years old; it was my first encounter with death there, in the funeral parlor. I did not understand anything about death- but I knew my uncle was inside that box; my mama’s brother, and son of my grandparents. He had served in World War II; a pilot in the Air Force, who had completed many heroic missions. Now, he was in that box. But then I was just a little girl; lots of sobbing and moaning- family- not wanting that box closed! I remember the anguish, hysterics- my mama, my grandparents, and that box; they would not let my family open it, to see him one last time. There was a flag on it; military men guarded it closely, and it stayed tightly shut. The fear of that box has haunted me all through my life. My little girl's inner voice always asked, "What mystery was inside that box?" "Why wouldn't they open it?" "Was something horrible in there?" I got older and began to think; perhaps that box was empty, or what was inside should not be seen? But still, the feeling remained. Death, and that box held the missing truth about our first casualty of war- never to be known; our loved one, never to be seen again- at least, not on this Earth. But every year I pray to say- "dear Uncle, thank you for your service."