“I’m afraid I will forget what they look like.”
“I’m afraid I will forget what they felt like.”
“I’m afraid I will forget ______.”
In the early months of the loss of my first two daughters, I remember these fears running through my mind as time went on and the vividness of my memories with them faded. I remember these fears when I stopped crying as frequently or as hard. I remember these fears when life started to feel a little more normal, and I didn’t think of them every waking hour. And I remember these fears when others stopped saying their names or remembering their birthdays. Would I forget to?
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An ancient prophet from the Biblical book of Isaiah when speaking of whether the God of His people could forget them said “Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you!” (Isaiah 49:15 NIV)
Of course, the prophet was being facetious in his response to that question. He knew a mother could never forget her child. He was driving home the point that EVEN if it was possible that she could, their God would never forget them.
I knew even when those fears came into my mind they were quite absurd. I knew there was positively no way I would ever forget these precious girls who I carried in my womb and held for mere hours. They had stolen my heart forever.
But still… I wondered.
Grief has a way of messing with your mind and reason. In the intensity of initial stages of loss, it’s hard to imagine a day where your loved one is not on your mind in every waking moment. Does it mean I am forgetting them if I am not constantly thinking of them? Does it mean I am forgetting them if I am not shedding as many tears? Does it mean I am forgetting them if ____?
Not everyone asks these questions of course, but these were questions I asked as my grief changed.
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I went to the gravesite for what would be my first daughter’s 5th birthday a little over a month ago. In a month I will go to the gravesite to reflect and celebrate what would be my second daughter’s 4th birthday. My time with them is no longer at the forefront of my daily life. My memories of them no longer consume my thoughts. And that makes me sad. It doesn’t, however, mean I have forgotten.
In fact, it is in the daily rhythms of life returning that I have discovered how they have become a part of me and how I live and move each day. Their lives have become a piece of me but not the whole. Their lives even on days where perhaps I’m not thinking of them affect how I live. The photos of them on our walls are a part of our story and our family. I walk by them daily and whether I stop and just look at their faces and remember or race by them in a flurry of trying to rush out the door, they are still with me. Sometimes a song will come on and I will remember something of their lives I had not thought of in a long time, other times I will sit and think of my favorite moments with them that surprise me with their vividness today now five years later.
And though others have forgotten their birthday and don’t say their names as frequently or at all, their names are engraved on my heart and mind daily, even without having to think of them. I needed people to remind me of that in those first few years of grief. I needed those who were years ahead in their grief to tell me as I asked those fearful questions that “No, you never, ever, ever forget.”
So to the parent reading this and perhaps asking those same fear-laced questions I want you to know, you will never forget. For our children are a part of our hearts forever.
Photo by Oscar Keys on Unsplash
Lindsey Dennis is the proud mother to 4 precious children, 2 who passed away shortly after birth and two in her arms today. She is married to the man of her dreams, Kevin and loves to spend her time offering the hope that is being written on her heart in the midst of her grief to others. She is the author of Buried Dreams: From Devastating Loss to Unimaginable Hope that tells the story of the loss of her first two daughters and the hope that she discovered in the midst of deep grief.
I’m a week from my daughter’s first birthday, and really needed to hear this. Thank you.
When my daughter died, I went through every single stage of outrageous grief. Wandering around the big, little city of Fresno. No shoes, no bra, no phone, no keys, and passed midnight. I wandered around hospitals, I took my other children to hotels that were located in bad parts of town; I wanted us all to die to be with my dead daughter. Over the last ten years, I used the out of sight, out of mind solution. Don’t talk about JoeyAnn, don’t think about JoeyAnn, and don’t allow others to remind me of JoeyAnn. This was very wrong of me. Wrong for those around me who also needed to grieve, but my selfish emotions overcame anyone else’s pain because I was the mother. My grief is still here. I cannot forget. I tried to place myself in a category of mothers who do not have a deceased child, but I can’t, because I do. I was never intentionally trying to forget my beloved JoeyAnn, I just wanted my other children and I to survive. Thank you for sharing.
I am so afraid. I know I will forget something important. He is slipping away from my mind.
My son, Xavier died 29 months ago suddenly from an undiagnosed heart condition. He was 11 days before college graduation.