Faces of the Dead

I carry with me a plain cardboard box. It measures 14” x 8” x 6” with its lid in place. Once it carried paper destined to print very important correspondence such as meeting agendas and school lunch menus. Now, it carries photographs.

I have plain cardboard box filled, like a sarcophagus, with faces of the dead. Individuals long passed from this world who share, in some way, a connection with me. They are relatives, friends, peers and colleagues. They are motivators, comforters, allayers and naysayers…they are the sum of the humanity that have shaped my life. Many, I have never met; their photographs of that unique sepia tone that signifies their antique status. They have given to me their genes; the fundamental nucleic acids and proteins that are the blueprint for my form and follies. For some, I can place a name, for it is written on the image. Others are nameless and will remain so for eternity. The ones who might know have passed beyond themselves.

Some of the photos are of faces familiar to me. Relatives with whom I shared happy and unhappy times. Grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles. Friends and acquaintances of their generation and, unfortunately, mine who were part of the circle of camaraderie. Vignettes of the human condition fading as the years pass.

And, the occasional small face of a beloved pet. Part of the house, part of the family. The sole confidant for a solitary child.

I carry with me a plain cardboard box. It sits in the dark to allow the residents a peaceful sleep. One day, I shall have to lift them gently and move them to a more permanent home, one that will preserve them everlasting. I’m not sure if they will be happy, though. To exchange their withering paper homes for a modern, shiny disc undistinguishable from a million others…perhaps it is better sometimes to fade away than burn out…