Memories

Memories, they're mini snapshots of life your mind takes. Those shots are than stored into files and categorized. The ones we wish to forget, the ones that make you sad, that brings a tear to your eye, we try to lock those in an archived folder and lock the cabinet and lose the key. The happy ones, the ones that make you smile, laugh, and feel pure joy we try to keep at the forefront. Smells, sights, places, people, sayings, movies, songs; all these things spark those memories and open up the cabinet. They can release those feelings all over again and replay that moment in time. I've tried to lock the images and horror movie away and have attempted to replace them with happier ones. With the joyous times and the precious memories. Those dark depressing ones eat at you, they latch on like a leech and suck the life out of you.

These last few months, the good memories are what we've attempted to hang onto. I can go into her room, and it still has her scent. I can smell lotion or oil and remember giving her baths. I hate that I won't have new memories to make with her. I can look at pictures and remember them being taken just like they were yesterday. A picture is worth a thousand words.

Everyday I'm faced with moving forward. Some days I don't want to, I would much rather live in yesterday or two months ago rather. I look at pictures and watch videos and feel like I should just be able to go into her room and pick her up. I've been struggling this last week, hence why no posting. I have been separating myself from reality trying to do some soul searching. Trying to figure out what the next day will bring. Posting here has been a source of strength and therapy. But there are days that I don't want to post because it forces me to face the music. I'm in a constant battle with the pain, the heartache, the hole I have in my heart. So I try to shy those moments away by trying to remember her.

We went into her room last night. Starting to go through and decide what to keep, what to donate, what to save. But how do you chose? How do you deem some things important and others not? Even the bordeux butt paste has memories with it! I remember the first time I took Savanna out shopping with me for the first time by myself. I remember having major anxiety about doing this. What if she starts crying while I'm going 65 down the highway? What if she starts screaming in the middle of the store? What if she gets hungry while I'm out? Well, I decided that day I was up for the challenge. So I got her dressed put her in her carrier, got her diaper bag ready and headed out for a girls day. First stop was Old Navy. I had tried to time it so that I could feed her before I left (I was still nursing) and by the time I finished at the first store she would be ready to eat again. Well, naturally she was on her own schedule. So an hour later we reached the store. I was so excited to go in and so proud that I was doing this on my own. And I was excited, I must admit, to show her off to the world!

I pulled into the parking space (I parked as far back as I could in case she got hungry, tips from other nursing moms) And of course, she was ready to eat. So I hung blankets in all the windows, put the sun shade up and hopped in the back seat. Pulled her out of her carrier and began to feed her. We were about 20 minutes into her feeding session, when I smelled that very distinct smell of a poopy diaper. So I finished feeding her, and with her still nuzzled in my arms I reached down, prepared the changing station (all one handed I might add) and laid her down to change her. And what do ya know? She got poop all over herself! So I changed her diaper, changed her clothes put her in her carrier, walked to the trunk, pulled out the stroller, rolled it to her side, pulled her out, snapped her in place, grabbed the diaper bag, shut and locked the door. As I began my walk to the store I could still smell that lovely infant poop. Checked her she was clean, and yet that putrid smell still tickled my nose. Checked her again, adjusted my shirt. I had something on my hand so I unconsciously wiped my hand on my pants and than realized I had grazed something wet. I looked down, and had liquid poop smeared all over me--and no spare shirt to change into! So, with tears in my eyes, I loaded her back into the car and headed home. My victorious day slowly drifting away. I never forgot to pack an extra shirt for me after that!

I think back to that time now and it makes me smile. Makes me laugh. I had invested so much into that event, and yet it was such a minute moment in time. A memory that I keep at the forefront of my mind. The most recent memories I continue to try and lock away and get rid of the key. I don't want to remember her the way she was in her little casket, or the way she looked in the hospital. But at the same time, it's the last moments I have of her. It's a battle, a constant battle. And no matter how hard I try to get rid of that key to the archived files, it always manages to find its place in the keyhole. I am just so thankful that I have so many great memories that make those terrible memories more transparent. And with time, I know those horrible ones will fade, but I fear that along with that, the good ones will too. I'm fighting to keep her memory alive and to remember her always.