As I once again pack up my house for another move, I am faced with a closet full of memories. These boxes have followed me for twenty years. These boxes are out of sight behind a closet door and sealed with a lid. It is almost like I have placed a lock on them and thrown away the key. I know once they are opened, memories will flood my mind and I am still not sure if I am able to withstand the onslaught of all that was and is no longer. It has been almost twenty-one years since the loss of my daughter; how is it I am still fragile. There is almost a fear or dread inside these boxes.
So I put on my big girl panties and ever so slowly remove the lid of one of these boxes. As I look in, I see a picture of all she held dear. It is a glimpse into my seventeen-year-old daughter’s bedroom. Pictures of friends, her ceramic cat collection, cute pencils with Beauty and the Beast figures sitting on top. They look at me, unaware of the pain stabbing me in the heart. I clutch her origami birds that she lovingly made and it is all too much. The tears flow and I am undone. Pictures that should have faded over time are crystal clear. Her ceramic cat collection is intact, not one piece broken. Paper origami birds look like they are ready to take flight, yet my little girl is nowhere to be found. The physical part of her is represented in all of her favorite things. Even big girl panties cannot stop the pain I feel for all I have lost. I have to admit, after twenty-one years, I was caught off guard by the intensity of my grief. I even for a brief moment went into critiquing myself and my behavior. My pain was real and I decided to not fight it, but walk through it. My grief is no less just because I or anyone else thinks it should be.
I miss her so much! I miss all we had and all that could have been. I know where she is and who she is with, but sometimes the missing is more than I can handle. I have felt the Lord walking with me during my darkest days. He has blessed me and my husband more than I could ever have hoped for. On this day of opening a box full of memories, I just longed for my child to be here with me, and I think that’s okay. So one box down – three more to go. The three unopened boxes are staying that way until I am ready; so, into the moving truck they go.
