The Mysterious Delivery
One morning, after dropping the children off at their usual places, I realized I’d forgotten my purse at home. When I returned to the house, a large delivery truck was sitting in the driveway.
“Are you Carolyn?” the delivery man asked when he saw me.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“We have a delivery for you. The box is extremely large and quite heavy.”
It took three men working together to carry it inside my small house. The box was approximately the size of a small refrigerator, wrapped completely in plain brown paper. The only label visible anywhere read simply: “To My Mom.”
Inside the massive box, right on top of everything else, was a sealed envelope. My name was written clearly in Darla’s distinctive handwriting.
The letter was dated three weeks before she passed away. The first line made my heart stop completely:
“Mom, I know you’re probably very confused right now. But if this box has been delivered to you, it means I’m no longer alive.”
“There are important things you never knew about me. I have to tell you the truth now. You’ll understand everything once you open the package completely.”
With shaking hands, I carefully opened the large box. Inside were dozens upon dozens of smaller boxes, each one carefully labeled in Darla’s precise handwriting.
One box for Lily’s 10th birthday. One for Ben’s first day of middle school. One for Molly learning to ride a bike. One for Rosie’s fifth birthday celebration.
There were thoughtfully chosen gifts prepared for every single milestone in their lives until each child turned 18 years old.
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