You know, the one that held all the future predictions about our marriage.
I opened it a couple of weeks after I posted about it. Nearly a month ago, now.
I was on the phone with a friend, complaining that I was feeling all tense and irritable and moody.
I was like, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Then I thought of that stupid box, looming.
While still on the phone, I searched all the likely hiding places, tossing aside books, office supplies, and random photo albums.
I started to wonder if it had been lost, or if Drew had taken it to hinder me from writing this very post.
I found on it on the book shelf in the front room, snug between two dusty books.
I hung up the phone to give the box it’s due.
I read my own predictions first.
Reading words I had written ten years prior was surprisingly uneventful.
I felt like I could easily recognize myself behind the words.
Reading his words, however, was a bit more piercing.
The answers to his portion of the survey was capped off with a handwritten note that began with the words, “To my love” and ended with “I’ll love you forever”.
Now that I know what I know, it’s hard not to see the inevitable outcome in the words between the lines.
Which is pretty silly, as the questions were rather simplistic and matter-0f-fact.
However, some answers incite feelings of bitterness and loss: “One promise about our habits that I made today that I will keep over the next ten years is that I will try to improve and I will love you even if you don’t change a thing”, and “I will always remember that without a healthy marriage, we will not have healthy kids.”
But the box is open, and read, and absorbed.
There’s been some distance.
Closure is creeping in.