Similar things, but, what’s inside the boxes were, completely, different, on death of a young infant girl, translated…
This infant, didn’t make a single sound a birth, extremely, quiet, like it was, a scene of, a funeral, a world of, icy, cold, and death. He, was a premature birth, weighed only six-hundred grams at birth, with multiple, severe, disabilities. As he was just born, everybody surrounded him, opened her/his mouth wide, couldn’t speak a single word, his lefts were up in the air, joints stiff, couldn’t lie his legs flat on the bed; the skins covering his body were ulcerating, not a smooth patch on him; his eyes, white from the cataracts, destined, to NEVER, see this, beautiful, world around him.
But heavens blessed him so, not let him stay too long in this world, to walk through his life. Within a day of his birth, he’d, passed away. As his chest still rose up and down, but his heartrate slowing down, the nurses told him gently, “You will never feel any pain, never be tried again. The next time you come back, do remember, to bring ALL of your, needed, parts!”
His mother was unwed, as the doctor told her the news, she had her back turned, just given birth, pretended that she’d not heard him. She wasn’t willing to see her own young for the very first time, nor willing, to see her son, the moment prior to, his death, she’s, so fearful, facing her own child with the disabilities. The child’s grandmother called aloud, unwilling to pay the four hundred dollars for a tiny coffin. Some kids are like a tear drop, before they hit the ground, they’d already, evaporated, vanished, without, a single, trace. Death may not be scary, it may even be, a sort, of a, relief; the scariest thing in the world is NOT death, but the future, of not being, loved and cherished.
On the same day, I’d followed the primary physician to make the rounds. In the afternoon, the breezes came gently, with that light drizzle, seeing a mother with her three-year-old young child, the two, focused, watching out the windows. The mom was teaching the boy to count the cars in the parking lot. From the tall building, all the cars became the size of toys. They were like scrooge, counting the cars over, over, over and over again. That young boy was happy and focused, he’s probably thinking: wow, so many, cars!
“Mommy, mommy………can I, put all these cars, inside this box too?”
Box. Box. I saw that box now, with the toy cars, made of, cardboard, like how that little baby who got called up on high a short while ago, fitted, perfectly, into. That chimelike “mommy, mommy”, drizzled down like molasses, became the most, melodious, sound in this, cruel, cruel, world.
The most beautiful music. So warm, so, blessed. If you ask me, what is, the love shared by parents and children. Then, I shall tell you, that it’s, luck. The never-ending blessings of, luck.
And so, these are, two very, different interpretations of “boxes”, the first one, was a box, where a young infant’s body was, placed in, and this infant didn’t have good enough parents who would love her right, that’s why, she CHOSE to, leave this world behind, while the second box, the box where the little boy placed all his toy cars in, it’s, filled up with, love.