When I was nine years old, my world changed in a single afternoon. My mother passed away suddenly, leaving behind a quiet house filled with unfinished conversations and unanswered questions. In the days that followed, I clung to the few things that still felt like her—her perfume lingering on scarves, her handwriting on old notes, and the last gift she had given me: a small ballerina snow globe. Inside it, a delicate dancer stood frozen mid-pirouette, surrounded by glitter that fell like soft snow when shaken. I placed it on a high shelf and made an unspoken promise to myself never to touch it again. For more than twenty years, it remained there, untouched, a symbol of grief I wasn’t ready to revisit.Life moved forward, as it always does. I grew up, built a family, and became a parent myself. Still, the snow globe stayed where it was, collecting dust but holding memories. Last month, my daughter noticed it while helping me tidy the living room. Her curiosity was immediate. Before I could stop her, she gently shook it. Instead of the familiar soft hush of falling glitter, we both heard a faint rattle from inside. My heart skipped. That sound had never been there before. I laughed it off at first, but later that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The globe felt heavier in my hands than I remembered, as if it were asking to be opened at last.
A Snow Globe, a Memory, and a Message from the Past Posted onDecember 30, 2025 Byauthor authorNo Commentson A Snow Globe, a Memory, and a Message from the Past
