Beautiful Box

Curtis Van Alen Joyce

It’s been a year and a half, my love, since you kissed my lips and walked out our front door to go paddle down the Colorado River. The Grand Canyon sun waiting to caress your cheeks and feed your soul as you spent quiet time under the Canyon walls. I will never forget your boyish charm as you packed for that trip and eagerly anticipated your time with God and with your closest friends. Even though you never walked back through our front door, your heart is still so much a part of mine, I’m not sure where you end and I begin. So, I write to you now to share my thoughts on another piece of our story…

I often speak of strength. The strength I speak of was much needed today as I opened the box that your ashes have rested in quietly over the last year and a half. The box that has sat silently for so long was ringing in my ears as if encouraging me to sit down and face another piece of the process. Over the last year and a half I have longed to open it yet fiercely hated the idea. I have wanted nothing to do with the box yet find comfort in it’s presence. Conflicting emotions dancing in the rain.

I know, my love, that you are not in that box. You are so far up ahead that I can consciously express that I know this box doesn’t matter. But, as I already know this, it doesn’t change the current reality of my pain. This pain hasn’t changed over the last year and a half. It is still unbearably sharp, overwhelmingly jagged and so hot that my body physically reacts to the memories that I conjure up when I think of your name.

My love, this is our story, and today was another chapter. I want to share it with you now.

As I walk down the hall to get your box of ashes, all I can think of is your body. A longing that cannot be expressed in earthly terms, flows through my heart and into my mind. I imagine your strong arms and your smile that melted all of our hearts. I reach out and pick you up, a box that holds my whole life sitting quietly and nestled on the shelf as if it could stay there forever, if I let it. All I can think of as I feel the weight of the box against my palms, is that I don’t want this box. I want your smile and kiss and hands and eyes and beautiful mind. I I don’t want this box.

I put on some of our favorite music and I sit on the floor. I put you in front of me, the shirt I have seen you wear a thousand times still wrapped tightly around the box that holds your ashes and bones, all of the Curt that I knew in his earthly body now sits in front of me. It is all there. Wrapped so nicely and sickeningly put together that It blows my mind how crazy this life is.

I don’t want this box.

I slowly unwrap the twine and release your shirt. I hold it as if you are still in it, smelling your body and struggling to stay in the present when all I want to do is go back to the past. But, the past is gone, swept down the river to the next eddie, waiting to be discovered again during our next journey.

My mind races to the time I spent with you after you died. Your body laying so still, so seemingly correct. You were quietly laying on your back with your hands crossed properly on your stomach. I think about walking up to you and holding on so tightly that I couldn’t tell if you were the one that was cold to the touch or if it was perhaps my body that had lost its warmth, our lives being confused for one last time while I still had you here on this earth.

I am startled back to the present. Here we sit, my love, your box on the floor and my legs sitting cross legged, not wanting to move a muscle. I lay the shirt on my lap, hoping that it will be my shield, my strength in physical form as I open the cardboard box that contains the urn. The silly plastic urn that I chose out of the book of packages that the nice funeral director gave to me as I numbly stared at him during the most grueling time of my life. Here you are ma'am, cremation or burial, casket or urn?”

I don’t want this box.

My mind goes back to when we met. That day on the river when I was so terrified of whitewater and you were my fearless guide. I think of your blue eyes that effortlessly stole my heart. I think of how I gave you my phone number and you thought it was going to be a tip… only to realize later  that it was the best tip of your life. I smile and weep. Where did that time go?

I struggle to get the urn out of the cardboard box. It sits snuggled in the box, comfortable in the place it has rested over so many months. I get it out and read the words that are written on the outside. Curtis Van Alen Joyce. March 18th, 2014. Grand Canyon. Flagstaff, Arizona. I weep. My body reacts to your name next to an end date. I don’t want this box. I want my charismatic, handsome, strong as nails, husband.

I think about the time that we said “I do”. I think about walking slowly down the aisle to you as your eyes filled with the most genuine tears you had ever shed, my love. I think about our house and our dog, our most imperfectly perfect life that we created together in Portland. I think about kayaking and hiking and singing and dancing and making love. I think about love and the endless possibilities that are born with jumping off of a cliff hoping that something will catch us when we fall.

The urn opens and I pull out the bag that holds your ashes and bones. I hold it closely, my tears spilling down my face onto the plastic. I think about the song that is playing as I hold what used to be your body. I think of you singing this song and I cry even harder. It is too much, this life is too much. I weep for the life that we had and the life that was supposed to come.

As I weep I think about the times that no one knows about. The secrets we hold close and the times of wonder we shared together alone.

I hold you closely for a while and then I gently put you back. Safely stored until we set you free. I know that time will come, my love, and I know our story will continue onward.

As I take your shirt and wrap you tightly back up, I wipe my tears and look straight ahead.

I have learned so much, my love, in these last 18 months. I have learned that what matters most is the love that we all share together on this earth. I have learned that the truest thing there is will always be there, but we can’t always touch it. I have learned that the world is spinning out of control and my heart aches to let go of the reins. I have learned that the extent of my strength is something that surprises me daily. And today, my love, I have learned that this box is a beautiful reminder that this life is undeniably temporary and I will be reunited with you once again. Until then, I leave you with this..

I love you equal, I love you to the moon, I will love you for eternity.