Boxes

There is a stack of boxes in my hall. They have been there for nearly a year. They are brown and basic, a stationery stationary tower. And I can’t bring myself to move them.

I am not a planner. I worry about this evening’s dinner this evening. It’s how I roll. I am anti-anxiety girl. What will be will be. Everything will work out in the end. And it always has. Except in the one case that mattered most.

Contrary to my nature, last year I started planning for Christmas in September. It was to be Charlie’s first “pink” Christmas and I was over the moon excited to fill her stocking with joyous pink gifts wrapped with love. I had plans to make her a beautiful new pink “Charlie” stocking to replace her old “Charles” one.  I bought her jewelry, a beautiful pink Ugg coat, bath bombs with surprises inside. She loved those. There were new “function of Charlie” hair products for her luscious locks and a cute pink wallet for her trips to the mall. And there was pink sparkly wrapping paper to surround it all. I was totally going overboard but it mattered so much to me. I would have done anything to make her smile on Christmas Day.

Instead, there were no smiles at Christmas, no Charlie. Those boxes in the front hall are her Christmas presents. Still unopened. Still sitting, waiting for a Christmas that will never be.

The boxes are like my grief. Still there, remembered even when I don’t see them. It has been nearly ten months and I have come a long way but I have a longer way to go. I’m just not ready to open all those boxes. One day I will be. But there is no timeline for grief. Until I am ready, the boxes will remain a reminder of the healing I have yet to do.

At the same time, I am actively working at getting better every day and I feel stronger. I am walking, writing, cooking, and my creative juices have begun to flow. All these activities, with the exception of writing, have simply been inaccessible to me since Charlie left us.

When I felt ready to make pancakes for the first time since Charlie left us, I knew that was a significant breakthrough. Thinking about painting and sewing again, even though I have yet to actually begin, are steps in my grief healing journey.

One day I will move those boxes. Just not today.