The Ball and the Box: A visual representation of grief

It has been 23 years since we last celebrated a birthday in-person with my sister.  In January of 1999, her cancer had returned, spread, and not responded to treatment. We knew it would probably be the last one, so my parents booked the Cutty's Resort party room and we invited everyone to a big birthday party for her.  Some of my friends from Central College shared a van and drove five hours each way to celebrate her and support us. Her friends, church members, and family members came for one last big party! I remember so much laughter that day and also a sense of dread-for what we all knew would be next.  

Over the past 23 years, the biggest lesson I've learned is that we can feel and experience more than one thing at a time.  We can be celebratory and dreading that day ending at the exact same moment.  Joy and fear can co-exist(rollercoasters as a prime example). Photos from that season of life bring up complex feelings of joy, sadness and even a smile. And it is all ok-but some days are harder than others. January 23rd, her birthday, is always a day of complex emotions for me.

This tweet thread from @LaurenHerschel makes visual the wandering path of grief. There are no steps, no straight line:

"So grief is like this:
There’s a box with a ball in it. And a pain button.
And no, I am not known for my art skills.

In the beginning, the ball is huge. You can’t move the box without the ball hitting the pain button. It rattles around on its own in there and hits the button over and over. You can’t control it - it just keeps hurting. Sometimes it seems unrelenting.

Over time, the ball gets smaller. It hits the button less and less but when it does, it hurts just as much. It’s better because you can function day to day more easily. But the downside is that the ball randomly hits that button when you least expect it.

For most people, the ball never really goes away. It might hit less and less and you have more time to recover between hits, unlike when the ball was still giant.  I thought this was the best description of grief I’ve heard in a long time.

I told my step dad about the ball in the box (with even worse pictures). He now uses it to talk about how he’s feeling.  “The Ball was really big today. It wouldn’t lay off the button. I hope it gets smaller soon.”  Slowly it is."