One Memory At a Time

Yesterday, and I suppose, there is a pattern slightly forming here, not for sure, but yesterday it happened again. Another crying session. Another memory. What stimulated it this time? Not a song. Not a butterfly. A friend.
I remember Philadelphia sometimes with fondness. Sometimes with utter utter sadness. Always though with a longing, like, I belong there, could belong there, would not feel out of place there. Not even in the city. Could live in a row home. Would feel very connected there.
--We were invited to lunch by a coworker. Her Aunt lived in Philly. I didn't want to go. Felt guilty. Lucas was getting sicker and there was all this guilt and fear. But it was planned and we were urged and they said we needed to "get away" for a minute. So we went.
I remember the houses we passed driving there. I remember her Aunt's house. I remember the food we ate. I remember her singing to her friend for her friends birthday (long story). I could even tell you what her Aunt's kitchen looks like, right now. Every detail. Only been there once. After we ate, I helped a tiny bit cleaning up and we three (my friend, her best friend and our old co worker and myself) went out to talk on the front porch. My husband and the Oldest stayed inside. It was just us. And I could feel the fear in the air. It was quiet but it was pretty big; like an elephant.
We started talking about other casual things, little things. Just watching the kids pass on the sidewalk on a hot summer day. Slowly, I felt it was ok for me to release a little tiny bit. The conversation moved to Lucas. What was going on, how he was doing, and so it began. In that conversation, I think I was letting out a little bit of what I had been thinking, my feelings on what if he died. What about God and how could this be? I remember crying quietly, just slow simple tears one by one, not uncontrolable, never that. They let me talk mostly only saying a few things when need be. It was hard. In the real world, I was their boss. Yet here I was, needing them so much just only to talk and try to figure things out. Like I could. That was the sickest part. Fast forward to now, I still can't figure how it all happened. It did. And it's done, but really, did he die? Is he gone? Well of course. Move on say you. That show is over, that boat has sailed. Be happy. Yes. My ears are ringing with it all. Yes. Be happy. Well there you go, I am happy. And he is too.
My point? I think that there are way way way too many memories for me to let them all blend into the past. I could make it a pretty watercolor painting, I could. I could force it all to blend, but I'd only be fooling myself. Every single time and I do mean every single time I think I've gotten one step further, another new memory floods my brain and it just continues to be difficult in a weird way.
I have a close friend who continues to say "are you going to try for number three?" and that really gets me. She is someone who I consider a very very close friend. A close family friend. She knows all to well, very well, who Lucas was, she was there every single step of the way from beginning to end. It's like a hammer through my heart when she says it. So I have begun correcting her. "You mean number four? And NO, three is enough." Salt on the wound. I know it's not intentional, she's not that way. She just is not thinking. Or she has forgotten how important he was. Maybe it's that.
I suppose the best plan is to take this whole thing, missing Lucas, wishing he were here in my demented way, falling and getting back up, I should just take it one memory at a time. I'm clearly stuck and maybe that's where I want to be right now. There you go, I said it. I want to be stuck because if I get unstuck, maybe I won't remember anymore and that to me, would be it. The end. It would be the end. I have to carry this burden and I have no choice. Sad or not, crazy or not. That's that with that.
Jenn