The Box by the Front Door

In my office, I keep an autographed basketball by Larry Bird displayed in a glass case. It is one of my most prized possessions. I also keep a box labeled “memorabilia” in the office closet. Inside are items I have collected throughout my adult life, including concert and ballgame ticket stubs, journal entries, Disney pins, and other keepsakes. The other day, as I was rummaging through it, I found myself thinking about another box.

A few years ago, my nephew, newly married and in his early thirties, was diagnosed with lung cancer. He had never smoked and had always taken good care of himself, so the news was devastating.

He and his new bride dreamed of having children, but the powerful treatment he needed would make that difficult. In time, a miracle was born.

He got to spend a little over a year with his precious daughter before the terrible disease and its toll took his life. He had a wonderful personality, never really met a stranger, loved to travel and duck hunt, and adored his dog, Trooper.

His life was celebrated by many, and stories about him were told time and again. The family talked about him fondly and often and watched with pride as his daughter grew.

Not long after his death, my wife and I moved back to Louisiana near where his widow was still living. He and my wife had talked before he passed about us moving back home, especially closer to him and his family, and spending time with his precious daughter – we were just too late to spend it with him as well.

As we settled into our new home, we started to spend a few weekend days with his daughter at our house. She is a fireball. Very independent and extremely smart for her age. We speak often about how proud he would be of the little person she is and the personality she is growing into. We love her so much!

Many months after his death, his sister and her family were visiting us when his widow reached out. She was facing the painful task of sorting through his belongings and had gathered a large box filled with collectibles and items of sentimental value - things she thought his family would want to keep.

Shortly before my niece and her family arrived, his widow dropped the box off at our house. It sat near the front door for several days. My wife remarked on how sad it felt - that this simple cardboard box held the pieces of a life: his dreams, hopes, and memories gathered in one place by our front door.

I have often thought about my nephew and that box over the past few years, especially as I have been writing. It has also made me reflect on my own life and the memories attached to the things I have collected - objects that hold meaning for me because of the people, places, and moments they represent.

I sometimes wonder what will happen to my things after I am gone. Will anyone want them? Where will they go? In the end, it will not matter, because I will no longer be here to know. It is just a sobering fact.

I suppose, in some way, we are all destined to become a “box by the front door.” One day, our time here will end, and it is sobering to think that a single box might hold what remains of the things we once treasured.

But those items are only collectibles and possessions - things we valued during our lives. They are not the true measure of what we leave behind. What matters most is what remains in the hearts of the people we touched.

That is one reason I write now: to help others better understand who I am and, maybe, to offer something in my words that might help them along the way.

I know my nephew left a lasting goodness in the hearts of those who knew him, shaped by the time he shared with them and the way he lived.

We all miss him and his laugh so much.

His name was Kevin Patrick Minor.

He was much, much more than a box by the front door.

May his memory be a blessing!