Numbers

Valentine's Day. A day for loving, kisses and hugs. Not a day for grieving or tears but to me it is once again a reminder of numbers. Numbers, not 3 valentines but 2. Not a family of 5 but 4. Only 2 daughter in loves someday not 3. Two sets of grandchildren not 3. 2 people home alone. Two people in the cemetery. One person standing barely breathing struggling to see the beauty in the day of love. One in the frozen cold ground. Wait, no the body is there but the soul, the being, is with God in Heaven. One person alone in the cemetery. Numbers.

Don't let me forget

Wednesdays are always hard for me. They are my busiest day of my work week. I leave and go straight to my mom to do what has to be done around her house and take dinner. Then when I kiss her goodbye a sadness envelopes my heart as she sits in her chair with her feet tucked up under her and tells me to be careful. I am sad because I know when I leave she will be alone. She has been alone all day with me possibly being the only human contact she has had face to face. It hurts to leave her alone and by then I am so tired that I get in the car and I cry. I cry for her, for me, for Jacob. I have learned over the months to grab my phone the minute I get in the car. I call my cousin and talk. She talks to me about anything. Anything but what my mind is screaming. As I near my house I will tell her I am home and it is ok. She tells me she loves me and I go in. Another Wednesday night saved from swollen eyes and a hoarse voice from screaming out to God. But tonight I cried. (It is ok Becca. I know you were busy. So please don't take offense. Sometimes I just need to cry) But tonight was different. I usually cry because of memories but tonight I cried for fear of forgetting. I had a five year old little boy tell me last week he couldn't remember his step dad. He couldn't remember what he use to play with him. He looked up at me with those big brown eyes and said I can't remember. His step dad was killed just 3 months ago. My heart broke but it stayed with me. I began to worry. Would I forget? No, I would never forget my son but would I forget his smile, his laughter, his smell, his touch? I began to panic. His room. What did his room look like before he died? I couldn't remember it. How could I forget? My heart is racing trying to remember. Have I tried to erase you? Was that what I was doing? Just four months after you died your brothers and I went through your clothes. What to keep, what to wear, what to give away. Why had I done that? So I didn't have to look each time and be reminded that you would never wear them again? Where were your clothes with your smell? Where was your blanket that smelled just like you? Why had I tried to put those memories away? In our home I have taken most of your pictures down because they are too painful to see. They make me physically hurt. My arms ache to hold you. The pains in a place so deep in my heart that I seldom go. I will double over from the realization that I will never look at that face again. So I don't look. I don't look at your picture. Have I tried to erase you from our home? I have the videos of you growing up and your shows but I can't watch them. You are so alive and it makes my body convulse into sobs at the mere sight. I want to remember every inch of your face, your musky smell of cigarettes and cologne. I don't want to forget. But remembering is just so hard. We cleaned out the building where you spent hours writing and playing. I scream at Bart don't touch one thing of his. Leave every momento on the wall. I grab for your writings, your handwriting, your thoughts. I snatch them away so no others can read them. I can't bear to part with even one piece. But I can't bear to read them either. Please don't let me forget but I can't remember for the pain. I left the building exhausted from the memories, the seeing your face as you rapped with your every breath to help us feel your pain. But I can't remember your smell, the feel of your hair, the whisker kisses as you tell me goodbye. I don't want to forget but it is so painful to remember. I scream in the car with tears flooding my face, "God, please don't let me forget. God, please please just don't let him be dead. Please oh please." Two years after you died and I still plead to God please let me have my baby back. Please just please tonight take my pain and give me back my child. The people in the car next to me look on in disbelief as I shake from the crying for the fear that I might forget. It is just so hard to remember. Remembering is pain. Sheer pain. But forgetting is so much worse. God let me keep those memories bright and alive where someday I can go and enjoy not run from them. Don't let me forget.