One Month

It's been exactly a month since my daughter died. The days her body stayed home, the painted casket, the cremation, the memorial service, even the simple passing of time: all have brought tiny bits of closure. I'm feeling remarkably, surprisingly good. Life flows on. Dinners get made, visits get planned, school reports are discussed, holidays approach, the baby inside me grows. My daughter's death has found its niche inside the flow, no longer filling every moment but occasionally rattling for attention on its shelf--and so far supremely dust-free.

And yet it all fades. I've relived her last 24 hours so many times, her last breaths. I don't ever want to forget it, how it was being there, what I felt, the sound and smell and feel of her. But already, just over 4 weeks later, the colors have begun to dim. I suppose if I forget things, I won't know it to regret it, but I hope the memories stay vibrant.