The voice at the other end of the line said, “Ms. RavenHawk, your mother passed away this morning, I am so sorry”. There was a long silence on my part. I wasn't sure what I was feeling. It all seemed so surreal. I was having trouble feeling any one particular emotion. Of course, I thought, there are several steps in the grieving process and I’m probably in one them at this very moment.
But there was something more. It felt like an out of body experience. I could feel my essence separating into small fragile pieces and begin to drift into the still nothingness. No…not now…not this feeling again. I had felt this way when I first went into therapy and started opening the doors to locked childhood memories. I quickly struggled to gather the pieces up before they vanished and there was nothing left.
And in that one monumental moment I slipped into an unconscious state of mind, no longer living in the present moment but propelled into the past where I frantically began to search the recesses of my mind trying desperately to find fond memories of times with my mother. It was all so foggy. I so desperately wanted to find a GOOD memory, but just couldn't find one. I searched and searched, certainly there must have been something good about our relationship at some point of my life? I hadn't thought about this in years. I soon realized that I was unable to find any happy memories, not even early in my childhood. My ambiguous feelings toward her probably begin from infancy, when she bought me on the black market.
I had blocked out many portions of my childhood memories and later through therapy had unlocked many of those haunting visions. Most were so terrifying that I did not ever want to go back there again. Trauma will cause people to block memories and I certainly was in no hurry to unlock the remaining doors and let those wretched demon memories out to devour what I fought so hard to keep intact.... my sanity.
The box would hold horrors and discipline for me. The box was a large steamer trunk with a dome top. It measured 35”x20”. As I grew older and found it harder to fit comfortably in the box, I became claustrophobic and of course, apprehensive of clowns. I had to learn how to breathe deeply so I could control my anxiety.
All characters, places, and events are from the author’s perspective and memory and may not resemble the views of those portrayed. Some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals. The names chosen to represent living people are fictitious; and any similarity in real life or history to people living or dead possessing these names is completely unintentional and coincidental.