I don’t know whether I ever posted this.  I know that I was desperate to remember everything.  Today I know I did not write enough, I did not take enough photos, I did not spend enough time talking to my child.

So I don’t forget…

Lucinda commented today “Again, I can’t add anything on to what others have said; I don’t know how you have the courage to make these posts.”

I sometimes wonder why do I blog?  My whole being screams “so I won’t forget”.  I want to remember every day, every spoken word, every unspoken word, every feverish touch.  My friends have lifetimes ahead with their children…I don’t.  They have many more Christmases and birthdays to look forward to.  The chances are that their children will bury them… As a family we lived one day at a time.  We were grateful for every morning when we wake up!

We have friends who lost their 17 year old son almost 17 years ago.  I have not seen her in a couple of years.  When I last saw her she said that it does not become easier with time.  One just learns to cope with the pain and the loss.  My friend had to walk away from her son.  He was declared brain dead after a drunk driver drove into the car transporting him to a rugby match….

She said “I touched his big feet.  I lay my head on his chest and I could hear his heart beat …. I walked away and his body was warm…”  Steven’s heart beats on in another person’s chest.  They, generously in all their pain, donated his organs and saved the life of another mother’s child..

Joan never had the opportunity to say “goodbye forever” to Steven.  She said “Goodbye, have a good game.  Love you!”  Joan treasures the last hug, kiss, laugh… She holds onto it.

I want to hold onto every memory I possibly can.  As hard as it is, I write so I will remember everything. 

A lot of what I write I don’t post.  It is too raw.

I hold onto Vic’s last words to me…”I love you Mommy”.  I hold onto the memory of her beautiful smile, her brave battle, her devotion to her sons and family.  I hold onto the purity of her heart and the kindness in her heart.  I hold onto her gentle memories.

Never has the pain been as raw and the loss as real as now.  For a couple of weeks I arrogantly thought that a scab was forming over the pain.  Then it was cruelly plucked off.

In a weird way I am glad the scab was plucked off.  I am glad that I am feeling that intense pain again.  I am relieved that the tears are running over my cheeks blurring the words as I type.

I want to remember.  I don’t ever want to forget.  I want to remember my beautiful, precious angel child.

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