I Would Remember

When all is said and done I would remember the snow outside the doctor’s office. 

The unknowingness in my children’s lives. 

The struggle to be inside a new chapter after.

I would remember the stars. 

The lake. 

Loneliness on the deck. 

The decade that was born from the grief. 

My dogs.

The girls growing and finding out how much they lost. 

I would remember the pale colors that surrounded me. 

The lack of interest in a regular world. 

The stories I told myself and others. 

The mailman. 

The houses I lived in. The moves. 

All the people I met. You. I would remember you. 

The tragedies I was told about. Everyone else’s pain. 

All the things I carried. Mine. And not mine. 

The writing of the letters. 

This letter. 

Writing to you. To us. 

The words that got me through it all. 

I will remember being afraid always. 

The panic in all the nights before. 

The noise inside my head. 

The changes.  

The gifts. The becoming. 

Being reborn while being alive. 

The early mornings. Coffee. 

The courage to live while letting go of all the things that were no longer here or mine. 

The sunrise. The sunrise. The sunrise. 

I would remember how unexpected, all of it was. 

How long it felt, while there. 

And of course I would remember the miracles. 

The rocket launches. 

The conversations. 

But most of all, I would remember me. 

The girl who didn’t know herself. 

Until the world saw her. 

Until you. 

Now it’s your turn. 

Go on. 

Go into the future and see yourself.

What would you remember about your life after loss?

With lots of memories,

Christina 

PS. Have you read WHERE DID YOU GO?