The “Shelf”

Or as I call it, the Dead Shelf. We visited with family over the holiday season, a place filled with pictures of children, grandchildren, grandparents, aunts, uncles, you get the drift, every where you look is a familiar face. For years the faces have been in the same place on whatever shelf or mantle they had been assigned.  I know where Ryan’s picture is, I know where Clara’s little face looks out at me, and I used to know where Justin’s picture was, his senior picture, so young and handsome. I can’t find him there anymore, he has been moved to the “dead shelf.”  He now sits with an aunt, an uncle, a niece, and many others, in a different place. I usually avoid that room and make sure that I am not in the line of vision of his face smiling out at me from his new post. This year I could not avoid that room, so I worked diligently to keep my back to the “shelf.”  You see, it is rather hard to acknowledge that your own child has graduated to that place, for some reason it was an incredible challenge this year.  Before you scoff, scold, chide, explain, justify, move your child’s photo to the “shelf” mentally, even if you have never even seen the “shelf” and let that sink in, visualize it, odd is it not?

Everyone has their way of remembering and honoring their beloved dead. This isn’t about denying anyone their expression of grief, or how they mourn, it is a plea to acknowledge that what is a comfort for some, will be excruciating for others. I don’t understand why the “shelf” impacts me so, perhaps it is such a stark reminder of reality, my eyes are drawn to that face like a magnet and all other pictures and voices fade.

And no one has to move him, or do away with their “shelf,” that is their way of remembering, and it should be respected and honored. My struggle with it, is just that, my struggle, and it should be respected and honored.

We learn new words as grieving parents, new definitions for old words. Integration keeps coming to my mind. Our dead child must still be integrated into our lives, we cannot allow ourselves to “shelve” him, he was our other self, our first born, waited for, desperately wanted, we need to still have him active in the tapestry of our lives, he was ripped away so suddenly. Now we are tasked to weave his memory and the still active love that is between us into our daily rhythm. How? I don’t know, we make it up as we go along. Figuring out what works and what does not. That is one of the great tasks of grief work, building a new relationship with your child who died.

Love does not die. I promise you Justin, that I will not shelve your life. I will share your love of books, music, beauty, you loved much, and you loved well. You taught us much, we learned how to be a true friend from you, how to never give up on a dream. And I promise that I will not shelve my life.  I like my shelf,  it is safe and quiet, the world is so loud. But I promise I will try.