When You Can't Unpack All the Hurt at Once

Fall is my favorite season. I love everything about fall - the colors, the tastes, the smells, the holidays, the decor, the weather, the clothing, the activities, the memories, the associations - everything!

I get giddy around the end of August in anticipation of fall. I turn into that person - the one who finds an excuse to bring it up in every conversation that lasts more than twenty minutes.  

"I can't wait till fall, because..." 

"This fall, I'm going to..." 

"What's your favorite season? Because mine's fall!" (I'm always a little surprised when someone answers with something like 'spring' or 'summer,' or anything other than 'fall,' really.)  

"What's your favorite fall activity?" (I just assume everybody has one, but I recently learned, not everyone does.) 

"Did you know there are only X-more days until the first day of fall?" 

I can get pretty annoying about it.

Fall finally arrived 19 days ago, and the fall-scented candles have been lit.

Over the weekend, I found a few burnt-orange leaves that had drifted onto our back deck, and I squealed with excitement at the "first fallen leaves of the season."

Pumpkin muffins and homemade chili have both been made and consumed, and I've caught myself running the AC a little harder in our home so that we can pretend the weather is cooler than it is, making up for the fact that Florida, as usual, is running a little behind schedule.

We're 19 days into this fall season, and about one week in, I realized something was not quite right. That the only fall decoration to have been brought out of storage and put in his place was my friend "Edgar" the skull. (Edgar has turned into a bit of an inside joke in our home - both a nod to one of my favorite authors and to my darker sense of humor. He makes me laugh, and my husband roll his eyes. Edgar's really not a fall decoration at all; it's just easier to explain his presence in October than year-round, so he only comes out once a year.) And the only reason Edgar had been brought out of storage this fall was because he'd been stored in our bedroom closet - easy access - whereas all the other fall decorations are hidden away in one of the oversized storage bins in the garage...

In one of several identical, unlabeled storage bins, each containing something different - one of which is filled with memories. Old photographs and letters, small gifts, and other memorabilia that would hold no value to anyone but me (and, perhaps, the persons associated with them).

I used to love to go through that box and reminisce; but I haven't been able to look inside that bin since it happened - since the day, two Octobers ago, when one of my closest friends told me, out of the blue, that she didn't want to be friends anymore. Friendship is a funny thing, in that it takes two people to begin one, but only one person to decide when a friendship is over. It was her choice, and though I tried desperately, I could do nothing to change her mind.

It's been a hard couple of years, learning how to move past the unexpected (and largely unexplained) loss of a close friend. It's almost as if she died; and yet, she's still living - she just doesn't want anything to do with me anymore. That's somehow so much worse.

I have so many memories with that one friend. Years and years of memories. And I've kept so many reminders of her, saved throughout those years of friendship, stored away inside that one unlabeled, oversized bin. Reminders that I'm, now, afraid to stumble across...

Because I've finally gotten to a place, after over a year of mourning the loss of my friend, where I'm not sad or angry or frustrated every time I think about her. I've accepted the loss and moved into a season of healing; and I've finally gotten back to a place where I'm not cynical of others who try to befriend me, or scared to befriend someone new, myself, on the off-chance that they might do the same thing she did. I've started trusting people again. I've gotten back to actually loving people (myself included), and letting them love me as well. And I've finally gotten to a place where the hurt, though still there, is no longer overwhelming...

And I think that's what I'm so afraid of. I'm afraid that, if I find that box full of reminders - all the letters, the pictures, the trinkets - then all the hurt will come flooding back in tidal-wave-fashion along with those memories, and I'm not ready to face it all again just yet.

This is not a matter of unforgiveness. Honestly, I wish it was, because that would be so much simpler. But you see, forgiving someone for the hurt they caused you doesn't take away your hurt; rather, it acknowledges the hurt fully while releasing them from retribution for it. And so, I'm not bitter toward my friend, but the wound she left is still healing; and some days, small things rip the wound back open or pour salt into it, and I'm reminded that I'm not healed - I'm healing.  There's a difference.

But that's how healing happens, isn't it? It's done in layers, in parts, over time. We're complex people - physical, spiritual, intellectual, and emotional, all wrapped into one being - with complex hurts; and so the healing process is complex, too. And complex things take time.

After the tragic and unexpected loss of his friend and bandmate Chester Bennington, Mike Shinoda penned the following lyrics:

"Sometimes, sometimes you don’t say goodbye once,
You say goodbye over and over and over again,
Over and over and over again."

My heart resonates with these words. I have had to say goodbye to my friend so many times over the past two years, and I'm sure I will say it again soon. Maybe even later this week. Certainly after I find and open that storage bin full of memories, eventually...

But not today. Because, this is what I'm learning: In the process of healing, sometimes, it's okay to say, "I'm not ready for that yet," whatever that may be. My wound is feeling a little raw, right now, and so, it's okay for me to know that opening that bin right now will rip the scab right off. It's okay to wait a little while, because one day, that scab will be a scar; and scars don't bleed so easily.

So, if you come by our home this fall, please excuse the lack of festive decor. And don't you believe for a second that I've grown to love this season any less! I just need a little more time to heal before opening those bins again.


"For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; a time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace." - Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 (ASV)