Janie is eight. Fresh and lively, she waltzes upon her daddy’s feet to the soft melody of her jewelry box. Around and around they twirl in tandem with the tiny jewelry box ballerina in sweet Janie’s bedroom. Life is simple, beautiful and clear.

Janie is eighteen. Young and beautiful, she waltzes with her first love—a love that didn’t last. She cries alone in her room, finding comfort only in the soft melody of her jewelry box. She watches the small ballerina spin around and around. Janie wonders if the tiny ballerina is lost like her. Life is convoluted, painful and confusing.

Janie is twenty-eight. Loving and maternal, she waltzes around her room in her first home to the soft melody of her jewelry box. In her arms she caresses her newborn baby boy; his eyelids softly pressed together, his peach-fuzz cheeks flushed. Janie feels her husband’s arms wrap around her and her child. Life is tender and a gift.

Janie is sixty-eight. Tired but content, she watches her son waltz around her bedroom with his little girl on his feet to the melody of her jewelry box. They move in tandem with the tiny ballerina. Her granddaughter squeals with delight. Life is eternal and proud.

Janie is eighty-eight. Timeworn but wise, she asks her husband for one last waltz. The melody from her jewelry box is faint yet present. The ballerina’s porcelain skin has a fine layer of dust as she slowly spins. Soon, the ballerina stops spinning and the melody dies.
That night, so did Janie. Life is a journey, but life is fulfilling.