The Monster in the Closet

Lynn Crowder

When I was a little girl, I was afraid a lot. I can remember lying awake on my bed imagining all the possibilities. There were snakes under my bed, there was a monster in my closet, and there were aliens with very sharp needles that were going to do zigzag stitching on my neck. This sewing would turn me into a zombie.

I used to lie in bed, and get myself worked into such a fright that I would risk the biggest fear of all, and yell out to my mother, things like... Do needles come through walls? She did not kindly to my inquiries.

The monster in my closet would grow to huge proportions. I would sit on my bed without making so much as the air ripple. I would imagine what he looked like...he would have teeth that grew; nails more like clawsâ?¦his breath would be foul from eating poor unsuspecting little girls.

Having grief inside you is kind of like that. We think that if we just keep quiet, or choose not to take a peek at it, it won't really get us. And as we stuff it down inside us, saying, "Oh, I'm okay... it's not a big deal", it grows like a monster inside.

It took a lot of courage to get off the bed and take a peek inside that closet. Some nights it would take hours, sometimes, it would take my mother leading me over to open that door. But every time I opened that door I proved to myself how brave I really was. And I never found a monster in my closet. Lucky me!

Grief is not exactly like the monster, because it is really there inside you. But what it has in common though, is that it grows all out of proportion when we try to ignore it. When we bravely take a look, and give ourselves a chance to label aspects of it, we can begin to do
something about it.

Sometimes we need the hand of another to help us look at stuff, at times it is the other that knows about such things, and can help us identify it. I guess my mother knew what she was doing after all.

Lynn Crowder