The Shadow of Your Smile
The Curiosity Chopping Block
It’s hard to believe, but this jewelry box was on the chopping block when my siblings and I were sorting through our family artifacts after my mother passed away in 2013. The three of us had gathered at my sister’s townhouse in Morrisville, NC about a year later for the second round of “Sort, Cull, and Purge”, as we called it.
Let me explain.
My mother owned several jewelry boxes, not because she had hordes of jewelry (though she did have a fair amount), but because these boxes held all the cherished items from her long life — everything from costume jewelry to locks of our baby hair tied with ribbon. We found one box entirely devoted to flowers we’d given her through the years, all pressed, dried, and preserved.
She kept everything that was sentimental to her.
Her special jewelry (like her wedding ring) was kept in a smaller, wood-carved jewelry box that was a gift from my brother, Michael. This box housed the more expensive pieces along with the silver jewelry Michael made during his stint as a silversmith in Williamsburg, Virginia when he attended the College of William and Mary.
There were four jewelry boxes in total. After we’d sorted and culled all the items inside the boxes, it was time to decide which boxes to keep and which boxes to purge. Well, anyone who’s been through this process knows how difficult it is.
Ideally, we’d keep all our childhood mementos in a little museum that we could visit from time to time.
But the reality is: Who has that kind of space? And, even if you had the space, in what context do these particular items play in your present existence? Also, what if you’re just not ready to let go of, emotionally and/or psychologically, the items you’re not going to keep?
Mystery and Magic
In addition to the stages of letting go, there seem to be varying degrees of sentimentality attached to each object for each individual. (We still have my father’s polka dot polyester pants from the ‘70s — but that’s another story.) Another valid point: Perhaps there are items you thought you were ready to get rid of but weren’t, and now it’s too late…
Suffice it to say, it gets complicated.
Neither my sister nor I wear much jewelry, so it seemed a moot point to keep all of the boxes since we didn’t have much of our own to put into them. We decided that we would definitely keep the one Michael gave her and put her special jewelry inside it. The other two were cheap castoffs, so they were an easy toss.
One thing we noticed about the box in question was that it was a musical jewelry box. But when we turned the key to hear what song it played, nothing happened. This seemed like a point against keeping it. Also, we weren’t sure how mom had acquired it, so it didn’t have a history attached to it.
After all, it wasn’t the box itself that was sentimental to us, it was what mom kept inside it that was special. Or so we thought…
Ultimately, we decided it would go into the Goodwill pile.
Finally, the appointed day arrived in which we were to purge those items that didn’t make the cut. I remember waking up that morning with mixed emotions — sadness, uncertainty, lethargy. I took on the task of hauling the items to the nearest Goodwill shop.
Everything was piled into the back of my Volkswagen and I was on my way, my brain still foggy from all the conjured memories. Suddenly, I hit a pothole and the eeriest thing happened: the musical jewelry box began playing its melancholy song: “The Shadow of Your Smile.”
I remember gasping when I heard it, and then my eyes welling up with tears. Mom loved that song, especially when it was sung by Perry Como, one of her favorite singers.
It was like mom was whispering from the grave: “Are you sure you want to get rid of that jewelry box, honey?”
I have since learned that this is a vintage jewelry box in the “armoire-style” of musical boudoir jewelry boxes, circa the 1960s. I don’t have a mirrored vanity tray like my mother had to place it on. It sits on my dresser now, where I keep all of my sentimental baubles. And I’m so very grateful I kept it.
P.S. As I was taking the pictures for this story, I mistakenly bumped it, and guess what? It started playing. Needless to say, the tears began again.