Forgetting for an instant

In the first weeks, and months her absence was seen everywhere. Swing in the corner, binkies in my purse, bottles in the dishwasher,  stained onsies in the hamper. Not only was her absence seen everywhere, but it was felt constantly, all day long. In that first week or two, several times during the day, my breasts would quickly sting, and I would think, "Time to nurse!" only to realize there was no baby to nurse. I remember waking up and thinking it was odd I had not heard her cry yet. Only to realize I would never hear that cry again. After I tuck Kate in at night, I longingly stare at Ruby's crib while lingering in the doorway. I used to walk in there, looking for a baby to re-swaddle for the night. When she was here, I was use to getting sleep when it might come, and once I was awake in the morning, I hit the ground running. Meds, TPN, nursing, naps, diapers, Kate, baths, doctor appointments, etc, etc. In the weeks after she left, it was so quiet. I didn't know what to do with myself. So much of who I was, was burried with my daughter. The daughter and sister that our family had adored more than anything, and centered our life around, was gone. She was so obviously gone. 

Those feelings and thoughts of forgetting she is gone have mostly subsided, so it surprised me the other day when those familiar feelings pained my heart once more. It was a Sunday afternoon. Kate was taking a nap for the first time in months. I was waking up from my own nap on the couch and looked at my husband still snoozing. The trees were blowing outside, and the thought of what a perfectly happy Sunday afternoon it was, crossed my mind. In my mind's eye I saw Kate and Ruby both napping, knew Matt would be asleep for awhile, and I was content to start browsing my recipes for a dinner idea. It occured to me that she was gone, almost the exact second that I forget and thought she was still here. 

A few minutes later I was standing over a steaming pot, mindlessly stirring its contents, when I happen to glance at the time, and again, I forgot. I was just about to say, "Hey Matt, can you go get Ruby up from her nap." It surprised me. It surprised me, and it hurt, and I am sure my dinner was a little extra salty from some rogue tears, but I was also happy. I am happy that her presence is felt so strongly, that it practically feels like she never left at moments. I savor that feeling. I savor the feeling that she is here, that she is still part of this family, forever. 

As unpleasant as it is to forget and then remember that my child has passed away, that second of forgetting is pretty amazing.