It hurts to remember, It hurts to forget.

I was holding Cambria on my chest like a baby after her nap, earlier this week. At 2 years old these moments are rare. It felt so good to have her skin on mine. It made me think of how foreign that feeling has become in the 4 months of Eden’s absence. It hurts to remember those moments that I am missing, but it hurts even more to think that I am forgetting. It has been my biggest fear all along. Forgetting her squeaks, her smile, the softness of her skin, her tiny diapers and sleepers. I waffle between obsessing over the videos we have of her, taking in every aspect of her essence, and avoiding them, instinctually self-protecting. In attempts to protect my heart, I risk forgetting those little details. This occurs to me and I scramble back to obsessing over her photos and videos again.

It seems to be instinctual to self-protect. But no matter what I seem to do, it hurts. It takes a daily conscious effort to embrace her memory. Sometimes it seems easier to avoid the pain and carry on. But for me that is impossible. As much as it hurts, I embrace her memory. Some days being far easier than others. It’s one thing to embrace her memory, and another to be realistic about the emptiness we are left with.

Eden is buried just a quarter mile away from our home. I wanted her close. We drive passed this garden-like cemetary nearly everytime we leave the house. The girls enthusiastically recite the same little line. “Hi Baby Eden’s Garden! We love you!” Not once have they forgotten or have been distracted. Without fail, we say hi to our baby, and it makes me smile.

Holidays

We put up the Christmas tree this week. The girls are so excited for Christmas this year. It’s the first time both understand what to expect and anticipation grows as each day takes us closer to Christmas Day. Creating a Christmas card felt all kinds of wrong. Adding Eden’s sweet little picture to the line up is so painful. Do I need to remind everyone that her perfect little face is no longer in our home? But the absence of a photo would also be an aching reminder. Like I’ve said before, I can’t win. Behind every corner there is sadness. Will this be the first and only Christmas card she will be a part of? I believe that thought is the most painful.

Mary

As we set up the kids nativity set, I held little Mary. God told her she would have a baby. That He would be the King of Kings. She brought Him into the world with that Hope. The hope we all have as mothers. I doubt she could fully grasp just how significant her role in bringing the Savior to Earth really was. She was probably just happy to be off that donkey, no longer pregnant, and holding her perfect baby in her arms! Savior or not. He arrived, and her heart was filled with the hope of watching Him grow, and smile and love and contribute something beautiful to this world. We all know that feeling as mothers, and we all know how Jesus’ story goes. All hope was lost (momentarily) on the cross. The confusion Mary felt must have been shattering. This wasn’t in the plan! This wasn’t what God promised! I feel like I am Mary, in between the time of the cross and resurrection. And I fear I will be here for a while.

Hope & Restoration

All the hopes and dreams I had for Eden vanished in a split second. Like Mary, I find myself asking, “Why my baby?!” Well, perhaps He didn’t belong to Mary, and perhaps none of our babies belong to us. Hope was restored in the resurrection of Jesus. He assured His family and followers of the hope we have because of the cross. Yet, all was not made right. Hope was restored, but mankind was not. Not yet at least. Not until He returns. I fear although hope may be restored in my life, all will not be made right until His return. I will carry with me this scar forever. And for decades it will be a mystery how God plans to use this tragedy to shape me and my family.