Fourteen Years

I knew, as always, that this day was coming soon.

I’ve just been busier than normal, maybe.

Last week was busy with playoffs, work, and church. The build up to Easter is beautiful, and emotional.

Maybe that’s why today was different.

Because this morning, she wasn’t the first thing on my mind.

In fact, I had been out of bed for half an hour before I realized it.

And instead of feeling like maybe that was a good thing, a sign of my healing...

I was heartbroken.

One of my fears about having lost her so long ago is forgetting.

Her friends forgetting her. Who she was and what she meant to them.

People not celebrating her birthday, or taking a moment on the day we lost her.

But most of all I am terrified of forgetting her. Already I struggle to remember her voice, her laugh, her smell.

It didn’t feel like healing when I forgot today. It felt like I had failed her.

Then I got on my phone and looked for a picture of her to post today.

And the same irritating anger started to bubble up. I have posted most of the pictures I have of her. There won’t ever be new ones. What I have is what I’ve got and there are not nearly enough.

And then....

As I was scrolling through photos... I realized.

I realized that every single time I post a picture of myself, my husband, our boys.... you’re seeing a glimpse of her. We are her legacy.

And even though for a moment I forgot what today was, I didn’t fail her. Today clearly and decidedly marks a day of great loss and trauma for my husband and I. But today isn’t vitally important. Her life, the days she was here, the time she spent influencing and teaching me - those are vital.

When I allow myself to live in those days, those memories... it’s easier to remember. I can hear her laugh. I can see her smile. I can feel her running her fingers along my back to calm me.

So, yes, today is rough.

And for years I cried for hours on end. Other years my husband dragged me out of bed and held me up as I attempted to push through. Some years I simply lived half in her memory and half in the present. This day will always be about her. It will always mark the loss that came on this day all those years ago.

Every. single. day. we carry on with her legacy.

Every. single. day. we remember her.

Not for what we lost, but for what we had.