Memories

In church on Sunday I held a beautiful baby.  His sweet mother shared him with me for an hour, and this lovely child smiled at me, and laughed, and nestled against my chest.  I loved holding him, and appreciated his mother's generosity.  I stroked his soft brown hair as I listened to the lesson; a lesson on death and the resurrection.  Of course I thought of Jonah as we discussed, but overall I was fine.  I enjoyed the lesson and enjoyed holding the baby.  When the lesson ended we sang the closing song, "I am a child of God."  I began to sing with everyone else, and then I couldn't.  My hands began to shake, and my lips quivered. Why do lips do that?  The combination of the infant weight in my arms, and the song I once sang to my son, brought the most intense visceral memory.  It was as if I was instantly reminded of all that used to be mine, and of all that I have lost.  It was instant pain, and gratitude.  Sorrow and joy.

This week has been filled with moments like this one.  I spent an evening crying on the carpeted stairs of Jordan's grandparent's home because of the heat.  The heat reminded me of warm summer afternoons in Vernal.  Jonah would play wildly with his cousins, trying to keep up, until we would finally retire to our room for a much needed nap.  The heat reminded me of stripping him down to his tie-dye onesie, squeezing his chubby legs, and covering him with his elephant blanket.  When he woke he would curiously scratch the mesh of his pack-n-play.  Then his blue eyes would meet mine as he peered over the edge, looking for me.  This simple memory, brought me to my knees, and made me cry until I had no more tears.

And then there are the flashbacks.  Sometimes in the car, as I watch the mountains move, I seem to witness my own fear and panic.  I see the moment of my greatest desperation.  I clutch my heart and then the moment is gone.    

What am I supposed to do with these memories? I can't banish them, they are my most significant connection to Jonah.  These memories are the only way I can still live with him.  I can't predict when they will arrive, and how long they will stay.  I fear them and long for them.  I ache as I remember, and I ache when I forget.

I don't know what to do, so I let them come and go.  I cry all my tears, and then I continue.  I thank the kind mother.  I pick myself up off the stairs and then try to fall asleep.  I take a deep breath and move my clenched hand to Jordan's solid shoulder.