Facebook memories. They can be so helpful and hurt so much at the same time. Reminding me of little moments I may have later forgotten, or slowing down my pace to linger and smile over a chubby baby foot or get a chuckle out of a sweet thing she once said.
But there are days like today where no memory of anything that happened prior to or after January 10th, 2016 can erase what THAT day brings to mind. There weren’t any posts or pictures but it’s burned into my head and heart deep and searing.
Kate spent her last day at home this day three years ago. I would spend the entire day worried. The fever came this day. The “we’ll finally get answers” conversations with Mike came this day. The mental checklist of what I should pack for the next day’s clinic appointment came this day…only this time, my packing list was longer than usual. I knew something wasn’t right and that we wouldn’t just meander home after playing in the art room.
She didn’t want to do much this day. What she did want to do involved me. Touching me. Laying on me. Resting her head in my lap. In the bath this day, she would ask me if she had leukemia again. Words I didn’t realize she even really knew. My heart caught in my throat I said, “that’s why we need to go to the clinic tomorrow to find out. We’re going to find out why you’ve been feeling so crummy.” She simply replied “yeah.” After bath, she asked to sit down on the floor because she felt so bad, she didn’t want to stand to dry her hair.
Later that night, she’d call out from her bed for me. She’d really never done that before. I scooped her up, somehow carrying her more carefully. We slept together in our big bed with the blue sheets this night.
Three years ago. Her last night at home. The night I started praying.
Three years ago today, my baby spent her last day at home. I won’t ever need Facebook or anything else to remind me of this. I could never forget.
One thought on “When Facebook Memories Aren’t Needed”
Lindsay, your words sear my heart. I am so sorry. Saying this is no where near enough because there are no words or actions to help. Just want you to know I am thinking of you.