Forgetting

Do you know what I was thinking about last Monday?

I was thinking about how this was the week we were going to share our good news with everyone. I was thinking about the upcoming doctor's appointment, and how nervous I was about not hearing a heartbeat or finding something horribly wrong. I was thinking of the meltdown the night before, where I sobbed and sobbed at the thought of the upcoming holidays and all the lost dreams and new dreams blending together in sadness. I was wondering how I could get through the day with so little sleep after so much crying with a self-imposed prohibition on caffeine. I was thinking about how I hesitated when a work acquaintance asked me how many kids I had, stumbling over my response. I was thinking about whether I could find anything to wear that wasn't maternity clothes, that still looked professional enough for an evening work commitment. I was thinking about how I wouldn't see Shea that evening to tuck him into bed. I was hoping he liked the homemade chili I'd sent in for him for lunch.

Do you know I wasn't thinking about?

It was Harper's 7 month birthday. And I forgot.

How do I feel about that?

I honestly don't know. Maybe I subconsciously remembered, thus explaining the timing of the nighttime meltdown. But, in truth, I think I just forgot.

I never thought that would happen. Ever.

Part of me feels horribly guilty. It's too soon. I'm not ready to forget. As dreadful as each milestone is, it's also evidence that she existed. That I had a tiny baby, and I held her in my arms as she lived and as she died. She will always be my Harper bean, and I don't want to let her go.

Part of me also feels relief. Like maybe this is healthy. Like maybe I'm focusing on the future for a change. A future with Lou, and Shea, and his upcoming little brother. Like maybe remembering Harper would have been 7 months isn't quite as critical as remembering I'm coming up on 20 weeks pregnant, and I need to schedule an ultrasound.

A couple of people have asked me whether it bothers me that the spawn's due date (May 7) is so close to when Harper died (May 5). It doesn't, not at this very moment anyways. It'll probably begin to get to me as we get closer. The 5th of every month is much more painful than the 18th, and I can't imagine that any anniversary of her death will be forgotten any time soon.

The fact that her death is so much easier to remember than her birth makes me very sad. But I suppose trauma and pain have a way of deeply branding memories in a way nothing else does.

For the moment, as I sort out in my own mind how I feel about my first moment of forgetfulness, I guess I'll err on the side of hopefulness, and think about this being healthy, a new focus on a happy future with my growing family. Harper isn't forgotten, but she's also not here, and I have one and a half living children who need their mommy present everyday. Not every day minus two days per month. Maybe it's just time to cut that down to one day.

Although I still feel incredibly sorry that I forgot.

Happy belated birthday, Harper bean. I never forget that I loved you.