Memories are tricky beasts. Some memories can hit you with the strength of a hammer yet when you try to hold on to others they fall through your fingers like water. Why is it that we so easily remember some things and not others? The things I
want to remember so quickly seem to fall into the crevices of forgetfulness, while the ones I wish were a little less vivid seem to glow in my mind like neon lights.
Those neon lights are surrounded in fog and they flash in reds and blues:
"I'm sorry we are meeting under these circumstances. I have bad news...."
"He's probably had the SVT for at least a week..."
"This happens so rarely, I see maybe one or two cases like this a year..."
"Normally we would send you straight to the hospital but I've spoken to the cardiologist on the phone and we both feel that at this point another night probably won't change the outcome...."
"Dr. Brown said that your blood work came back from last night and it is worse than it was before. She says we need to go in for the c-section this afternoon..."
Other memories are shrouded in fog and I can hardly remember the first six months of the pregnancy anymore.
Those memories, when I can pull them out of the fog, come in discreet packets.
The other day Leif and I went for a walk around the reservoir and I remembered that we used to walk that same path at least once a week before we got the news that sent us over the proverbial falls in only a barrel. We went partially to baby-watch...to observe what type of strollers people were using. We went partially to imagine ourselves there with our own son. Many times we would swing by on our way home and get a couple of scoops of our favorite gelato because I was, after all, still having trouble putting on weight during the pregnancy.
Up until that terrible day Leif had taken a daily picture of me in the same outfit and in the position with the intent of doing a time lapse video after George was born. I used to get so frustrated with those pictures. Leif was so excited about the project and sometimes I would make such a fuss about having to change into that same outfit every night. I was foolish and thoughtless. Now there are loads of pictures of me hidden somewhere on his hard drive. If ever he were to put them together I would want him to name it "The Girl Who Stayed Pregnant Forever." Because really, in those pictures time froze when I was 24 weeks pregnant. We don't have a single photograph of me after we got George's diagnosis.
I still have an unfinished blog post about my 23rd week of pregnancy. It rambles on about feeling his movements and how I was increasingly getting uncomfortable. I was working on it when we left the house to go to that first Perinatologist's appointment. We were just going to get better views of his kidneys and the flow through the cord. I wasn't concerned. Besides bad things didn't happen to me. Bad things didn't happen to Leif. Now I occasionally look back at that unfinished post and wonder if I should publish it one day. Right now it is just a reminder, a preserved memory, that life took such a dramatic turn later that day that the person who wrote that post doesn't exist anymore. Parts of her are still here but I am not that naive young mother-to-be anymore.
So yes, if I try hard enough I can remember, vaguely, that part of my pregnancy when we were happy and all was right in the world.
Leif first felt him move while we were in the hospital. I want to remember that moment forever. Somewhere I think we still have video of the ultrasound when we found out he was a boy. Even without the video I remember our excitement on that day. I also recall discussing with my sister the invitations and date for the baby shower. I have one of the invitations, which were never sent out, saved in a drawer. I think I will always keep that around. And the blankets our mothers made for him will always be reminders of how much he was loved.
I want to remember more of those things and hopefully it will cut some of the bitterness still left in my mouth. I want to remember more laughter and less tears. More visits with friends and less visits with doctors. More prenatal vitamins and less cardiac medications. More morning sickness and less digoxin toxicity.
More joy. Less grief.
Memories are tricky beasts. Sometimes the only way to hold on to them is to forcibly pin them down with words. Like butterfly specimens underneath dusty glass. I guess that is why I chose to do this. Because even when I forget, and there will come a time as my wounds slowly heal that I will begin to forget and a time when more memories will start to blend in with the fog, there is proof that once upon a time I remembered everything.
