Memories ~ the good, the bad and the worst

I don't if it's our conscious mind or subconscious mind that is in control of keeping the bad memories at bay. I do know that most days - two + years out from holding Nicholas in my arms and saying goodbye as best I could - I consciously try to choose to remember the good memories. The memories that make my heart smile. The memories that make my soul feel warm and at peace. His face, his toes, his smell...

Then, out of the blue, the most horrific memories emerge... they wrestle with the good one's and force their way to the surface. The feelings are unstoppable. Intense and without warning.

Obviously, there are a lot of heartwrenching memories about the time we were given Nicholas' diagnosis and prognosis. Obviously, there are moments, lapses in time, I would much, much rather forget...and I do, for the most part. The defense mechanism of the human spirit. To cloud the traumatic remembrances and highlight the love. To repress the most horrifying experiences and hold high the joy and the reverence.

I still find that concept so disorienting. Hard to put into words, really. The ability our brains have to hide the darkest moments of our lives. It's when those memories are triggered for some reason or another that our conscious fails us... fails our hearts... fails our peace and contentment...

I've been having flashes. Words can trigger them. Feelings can trigger them. Smells can trigger them. Insensitive people can trigger them. The memories are somewhat blurred, yet so achingly real.

There is one memory in particular...one before I was induced to birth my dead son. I don't talk about it often. It's not something anyone wants to know. It's not something anyone wants to deal with. It's the moment our son died. The moment I felt his last kick on the right, lower portion of my belly. The moment all hopes and dreams for Nicholas were taken. The moment I can hear the doctors talking back and forth while looking at his beautiful picture on the screen.... The moment when the tears wouldn't stop and the sobs escaped me as I prayed for my little boy. It's the moment that haunts me... the moment that threatens to destroy my very soul.

So, I am grateful for the resiliency and the protection of the human spirit. I am grateful that most days I am able to remember and honour Nicholas in meaningful and positive ways. The flashes are deafening for a few moments, but Nicholas' beautiful presence in our hearts and in our lives allows me to work through those moments and share his legacy around the world.