Friday, July 13, 2012

Friday the 13th

I wonder how our memories will change over time. David and I holding hands walking back to Charlie's gravesite, city folk trying to park their cars on our land and scraping bottom, people smoking Camel Light cigarettes everywhere and Adaline running around like she was at the biggest party of her life.

Will I remember all the details of the day of Charlie's funeral and his burial 10 years from now? It seems like it. It seems like one of those moments, frozen in my head forever like getting my first chocolate dipped ice cream cone, the day I got my first kiss, or the day my Aunt Emmy died. At her funeral I was spinning and spinning in my dress because it twirled around. My dad hugged my mom. I was 4, they were divorced, and I'd never known them to touch. I remember the seat of the church pew was crushed red velvet, and the hymnals were black with gold letters and the flowers ontop of her casket were gladiolas. It must've been spring. We ate fried chicken afterwards and then my dad tried to make me take a nap, but I didn't want to so I pretended that the girls on my quilt were my friends and we chatted instead.

I wonder if I'll remember that at the end of the night sitting around the bonfire after burying him, humor divulged into talk about sausage roasting- and not the edible kind. I remember laying in the grass and looking at the stars and being mad at David for being able to laugh. I'm so glad he was able to laugh. Somebody had to. So many friends were there, so many people from all around our lives that hadn't come together like that in years. In a way, it was beautiful. Tragic, but so beautiful to see how many people were there for us.

Most all of those people are still around, and we are so blessed to have them in our lives. Many of them were people we have reconnected with after losing contact for years. Many of them are fairly new friends, but amazing nonetheless. Most of them are family by choice, not by blood.

Our blood family has been so amazing throughout this whole process. They have helped us out, watched Adaline, not said anything about how many nights we drank ourselves into oblivion because we didnt know what else to do, and have been a great emotional support network.

I buried my son three months ago today. All of his things are packed away in a nice little box, his autopsy report has come, all the thank you notes have been sent out, and it's over. It's all over on the outside, and the process of healing on the inside is in rapid progress. Things are moving along at quite a rapid pace, thankfully.

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