Buried Treasure

As Justice would put it, it would hurt too much to care, so he didn’t care.

He would collect things. I never understood why he would collect trash.

The night after Tunes left, Justice and I talked before bed. We were both having a hard time with the fact that Tunes was no longer there. He was glad to have his room back, but he didn’t want it back like this.

“You can cry Justice, if you want to. It’s OK.”

During this conversation, he picked up an empty box and told me he couldn’t throw it away. It was the box to Tunes’ vape pen. He said he left it when he came to pick up his stuff.

He then showed me other things he couldn’t throw away even though they may be old, or broken or just trash. Some of the stuff he didn’t even want around, but couldn’t throw away.

He showed me the pillow I made years ago out of his dad’s old shirt. I made one for each of the boys but he’s the only one who has kept his.

A funky looking turtle I made. I hate that turtle, but he says his awesome mom made it.

He was distraught over losing a rock that was shaped like a heart that I had given him.

He had a big o’ pink pig that makes noises when you squeeze it’s foot, and is super comfortable when used as a pillow, that he pulled out of the donation bin that his sister threw in.

He talked about all the stuff animals girls have given him over the years. Even in kindergarten and first grade, girls were always giving him presents. I could never figure that out. He’s kept them all. He told me one of them was a monkey he couldn’t throw out, but gave to our dog because it freaked him out. Of all the toys the dog destroyes, this stupid monkey still hangs around the house.

When he was younger his room was a mess. He has always been a horder. He’s actually gotten much better.

He would refuse to clean up his trash. When I would go in his room with a trash bag he would completely lose it. He would tell me I was throwing away his treasures. So even though he would never clean his room on his own, he would sit next to me and tell me what was trash, what was toys, and what was his treasures.

I never understood why empty styrofoam cups and chip bags could be treasures, but now I’m seeing they were things his dad or someone had bought him.

Even the empty boxes of toys that have been broken, lost or given away, he would keep.

At the end of his kindergarten year, his teacher was retiring so so gave him the plastic bin that stored all the bugs and dinosaurs he would play with in class. He is fifteen years old and he still has it.

As we talked and as he explained to me his treasures, I started to put together my child who felt nothing, stored his feelings in his things.

Maybe then he could always hold on to them. They wouldn’t change. They wouldn’t leave. They were frozen.

He said he didn’t like to care because caring would hurt. So for years he stopped feeling. He stopped caring.

But he’s learned that even though he put his feeling in things, he couldn’t stop hurting. He would explode.

He told me, he learned to cope by learning how he needs to care, even if it hurts. Feeling the hurt takes away his pain and makes his life a whole lot easier.

I’m so stinkin’ proud of this kid. And I’m so grateful for him being able to unlock the mysteries of his childhood behavior. We are blessed.

So my son cried. We both did. And you know what? We both feel better.