Some days I seem to get through the day with only a few tears shed. Today is not one of those days.
There are so many things about Easter morning that I’d like to forget. I try, with all of my might, to forget and yet I am bombarded with images, feelings, and emotion that I couldn’t ever possibly explain. I fear that the images will remain in my mind as a terrible reminder of my loss. But, what I fear above everything about losing my son is that I might forget him.
Of course, I will NEVER forget Christopher is my son or I his mother. No, I fear that I will forget the things that pictures can’t remind me of.
I’m afraid that I’ll forget the way his curly blonde hair felt under my chin as I rocked him back and forth before bed.
I am terrified my hands will forget the softness of his milky skin against mine.
Because he is no longer able to greet me as I walk in the door, I fear I’ll forget the way he waddled towards my embrace or the precious sound of his voice as he excitedly said my name.
Nothing scares me more than my fear of forgetting his sweet, Christopher smell. That fear causes me to race to his bedroom and frantically bury my tear-stained cheeks into his worn shirts or blankets in hopes I will find just a little bit of his smell.
Realizing I can’t find his smell, all I can do is be thankful. Thankful, that I was given the most perfect child any mother could ever dream up. A child that made me happier than I could have ever imagined, even if it were for only a short time.
So, now my job is to preserve his life in the memory of others and to treasure the things I can remember… and I plan to do so with such ferocity in hopes that I will never forget.