Sunday, June 29, 2014

Finding Things

Remember those boxes that I had? Yep. Still have them. Still not unpacked. 

Most of them are on our bottom floor which doubles as a playroom for my son and the cats. A couple of weeks ago I started looking through one as he was playing. I came across the framed portrait of our son that R left his note on. I was rifling through the box and when I saw what it was, I froze. I didn't even want to touch it. I stopped and stared at it for a while feeling sick to my stomach. Here come the flashbacks: walking into the sunny playroom, why is the big Elmo doll on the floor with our son's picture leaning on it? What is this note? 
"I'm sorry.
 I love you, B. 
Love, Daddy."
What the hell does that mean? 
I thought for sure he was off on a bike ride or sitting in the garage getting high. No. He was hanging in my garage with his Black Belt from Judo, that he worked so hard for, tightened around his neck. 

Tell me: what do I do with this picture and frame? Throw the whole thing away? Take the picture out and throw the frame away? Only problem is I know whenever I see that picture, no matter what frame it's in, I will be brought back to that moment. Every single thing in those boxes has a memory attached to it and the thought of going through all those items is daunting. I usually end up putting things back into the box and closing it. 

Last night I happened to be looking through another box. What's in this box? I can tell what room in our charming little house it was packed from by looking at the things that are in it. The living room. Photo albums. I see the small album from the bed & breakfast we stayed at on our honeymoon. I start flipping through the pictures and suddenly he is there, staring me right in the face. Whoa. There he is. Alive. With color in his face. And happy. Now he's dead. The last time I saw him he was laying in a casket looking sunken and sallow. You had a whole life ahead of you, why did you do that? My stomach turning, I close it and put it back in the box. 

I want to go through all of these boxes and be done with it. Just like my grief. I want to be done with it. The thing is, this will never go away. I just learn how to live on with it. BUT, the boxes and all the things that are in them CAN go away. And when I figure out what to do with them it will be a big burden off my back. I have to be kind to myself. Cut myself some slack. Nothing ever has to be done before I am ready to deal with it. 

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