All the boxes

After and during each move I see the same boxes. The ones with my daughters name written on the labels, "Makenna's toys, Makenna's room, Makenna's books". Each time in the last year and half of packing and unpacking the boxes never get opened.  The go into a storage closest. The boxes will never get unpacked into her room, with her bed, or her toys. Instead the small items I did keep as a memory are all nestled away in boxes with her name on them. I put up her pictures in my home, it's usually the first thing I do to make it seem like home. I keep her memory book at my bedside table to read at night. I keep her favorite bedtime story on my book shelf to read on those hard nights when sleep eludes my wandering mind. There are about 8 boxes full of her memories.  Each box holds a trinket of the 4 and half years of her life. Some people tell me each time I should try and get rid of these boxes...ya know move on already.  And at times I wonder if it is not the actual boxes I'd be escaping but her memory.  It's easy for parents that have children to not see the values in those items that are packed so neatly away. However for someone who has a child in heaven all we have are those boxes. We don't have a smiling child to snuggle each night, we don't have anymore art work from school to hang on the refrigerator anymore....what we have are 8 boxes of memories.  Imagine having to place your life in 8 boxes...and be fine with knowing that is all you get. 8 boxes of memories.

On most days...

On most days on your journey with grief you care about what you feel,  look like or if you can manage the smile for ano th er second. Then on other days the caring ceases and your outlook on the future becomes bleak again and you cycle back into the fold of pain of your loss of your child. Your space that was once full of laughter and joy is now void of such. Your values your hopes of that future are gone. And you wonder what future is there after this tremendous loss of your heart. It's the wondering that gets you on most days of the journey. It's the smile you must fake knowing that the world around us is moving along and our world without our child is at a stand still.  You face each day knowing that no matter what your new normal is not normal. You sit on most days looking for signs that your child is still with you. You hope for something to show you they are better and at peace, knowing that all you really long for is them to walk through the door even if for a second. You wish for life to start to make sense again now that you've been forced to live each day without a piece of yourself.  On most days you fight to get out of bed, or to go to work or keep focused at work. On most days you wish people around you remembered your child the way you do. On most days you just wish this was all a bad dream you could awake from. On most days you wish life gave you more time. On most days you try to understand this long lasting loss. On most days you pray for your heart will stop aching. On most days you hope for solace in the gravity of your pain and loss. On most days you hurt and want to stop fighting. On most days you just weep...