child losscoping

Pain Box Update

By March 2, 2021 No Comments

I recently was able to download my old entries from Caring Bridge. For my own  perspective I will be archiving some of them here.

This entry was penned a mere 8 days after Chase’s death. A lifetime ago. I offer the entry and an update on how it feels almost four years later.

I am tough. Physically tough. Mentally tough. I birthed both my boys with no drugs. A guy even once broke up with me on the grounds that I was too much of a hard ass. I have done numerous brutal races lasting double digit hours when I had to dig for the strength to keep moving. I thought I knew what it was like to hurt. What it was like to push through the hurt. But I know now that I am clueless. You see, that kind of pain is temporary and comes with grand rewards. There are babies and accolades at the end. There is a finish line.
I will not break the ribbon of this pain until I die and see my son whole and smiling again. Chase used to wish for fantastical things to be real. He once wished for the world to be made of bubble gum and for Minecraft to be real so he could explore the pixelated worlds he created. I don’t have that kind of wonderful imagination. But today I envisioned and wished for a box. A large sturdy box with a hermetic seal. A place I could lock away the pain even just for a few minutes or hours. A whole day would be a dream. In truth, I want to bury the box in the center of the earth where it will vaporize from the heat and be gone forever. But I would happily take even a short respite.
But the truth is I am now the pain box. That hermetic seal now surrounds my integument. There is no escaping it as I wander from room to room looking for a space I can go where it doesn’t exist.
As days pass, it is so hard to focus on the joy and love he brought me that I would never have had without him. I do know at my core that doing that is the only way out of the box. Or perhaps I know instinctually that there is no final escape here on earth, that I will always spend time here no matter how old I get. So I just pray that some day I can pile joy, Chase’s ten years of daily joy, on top of it all and paint it alien green. 💚
I miss you Chasey.
Four years later, as I easily predicted, I still live in my box. It feels different now. I won’t say easier, but just different:
  • I have dented it with my fists and feet kicking and screaming to get out.
  • I have tried to decorate it on good days.
  • I have just sat and felt the loneliness and utter darkness on many many days.
  • I have bathed in the gallons of tears as they’ve edged up the walls.
  • I have managed to put some wheels on it so I can move around in it more.
  • I have been able to install a tiny window in it so that on the sunniest days I see the beautiful light. I observe others and through this thick pane I see that they all walk in boxes of their own in some shape or form. The window still fogs and gets stuck shut many times. But if I work at it I can pry it open. Every day I choose to pry it open…or let it stay closed because I am just too exhausted.
  • Best of all, I have filled it with memories of Chase: his art, his jokes, his love, the joy of being his mother.

 

 

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