Memory

Memory is a strange thing.  Some details seem etched in the folds of my brain, while others - ones that I would like to have with me - are blurry.

I cannot imagine the pain of mothers who do not have pictures of their lost children.  There are so many times when I sit, staring at Annabelle's photos, wondering if I truly remember what it was like to look down into her eyes.  She had such beautiful, knowing eyes.

Memories I wish would fade, remain clear.  The look on the neurologist's face.  The mortuary van driving away.

Sometimes I sit and try to think of Annabelle.  Other times, memories jump into my head without warning.  But I am grateful for them.  Even when they bring with them streams of tears and ache that escapes description.

---

Last week we got a special delivery from Annabelle's nurse.  Nearly a year ago, she had mentioned something about a memory bear, and it wasn't until much later that I was collected enough to decide what materials to send to the seamstress.  Just before the holidays, I finally selected a purple blanket - a gift from a dear friend, something Annabelle never had a chance to use - and an outfit - handmade by another dear friend.  The seamstress - a volunteer with Trinity Kids Care Hospice - had created for us a gift.  Something to aid our memories.

We had a nice visit with the nurse.  We talked of Annabelle, and grief, and the future.  And she gave us the memory bear.

I sat there watching Makayla hold the bear, feeling my baby kick at my insides.  I didn't weep, but I was overcome with sadness that one will have vacant memories of a sister she hardly knew, and the other will have only stories of a sister he never met.  But the bear, along with pictures and stories, will help remind them of the sister who couldn't stay long, but is still a part of their family.