The Unwanted Gift
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Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.
― Mary Oliver
I never imagined the day I would accept an unwanted gift.
Scratch that.
Correction: I was forced to accept an unwanted gift because I never wanted this box in my hands.
This was a box I didn’t want under my Christmas tree this year. I can’t stand to look at it somedays with its shiny black paper and dust of glittery gold all over it. There’s even a delicate white lace wrapped around it and tied in a neat bow — like death could be wrapped up so prettily.
Anytime I walk by it, the glitter from it gets on me and spreads everywhere in the house. No matter how much I vacuum and sweep, I still find the glitter from this gift in every crevice imaginable.
I glare at it every single time I sit down on the couch across from my Christmas tree. I’ve had this gift since June when I walked out of the ICU for the last time. All the doctors and ICU nurses wrapped death in a box and forced it into my hands when I didn’t want to take it.
“This gift will feel like a blessing in time,” the minister tells me. “It won’t…
