Remember

We want to always remember Ethne.  The way she smiled.  Her goofy run.  The sound she made while pushing the noisy cart down the hall.  Her giggle.  Her boogie.  Her cry, kisses, hugs, teases-- every little thing.  We never want to forget.  But there are things that I often feel I want to forget, but never will.

I get flashes from that day.  Flashes of pain.  Difficulty breathing.  Worry for my babies that I could hear crying (later to find out that it was only Edward I could hear).  Questions and answers all while trying to blow blood out of my mouth.  I remember the paramedics pulling me out of the car and asking them what happened, I couldn't remember.  I remember asking them if my babies were okay and I remember them asking me about my babies.  I told them that my little girl, Ethne was two and my boy, Edward was 8 months.  I remember thinking there was an awful lot of blood in my face.  I remember seeing the oxygen mask getting splattered and wondering why they weren't doing anything about it.  I remember the sound of the helicopter, someone telling me I would be riding in it, then black.  I remember them cutting off my clothes.  I remember hurting. all. over.


The next thing I remember is waking up with a tube down my throat and looking for Lawrence as best I could all tubed and braced and tied down.  The relief I felt when he was right by my side is indescribable.  But that was immediately replaced with concern for my babies.  I remember waking up several times and asking where my kids were.  And I remember his response because it was the same every time "Edward is fine and happy, Ethne is safe."  I knew.  I knew the first time, when he wouldn't tell me where she was, that she was gone.  And I didn't want to face it.  I went back to sleep until I couldn't any more, and even after that I faked it.  I remember the last time I woke up and gagging with the thing in my mouth.  I begged for them to take it out because I kept gagging and it hurt every time I did, but they wouldn't because they weren't sure if I'd be needing more surgery and they didn't want to take it out only to put it back.  I remember the ENT fixing my nose and him sounding chipper that I probably wouldn't need more surgery to fix it, I just wanted to throw something at him.  Didn't he know my baby girl was gone?  I remember pretending to sleep and trying to listen to the people talking around me, whispered conversations that they thought were private.  And I wanted to shout and throw things at them for not telling me the truth, but also somehow understanding why they hadn't yet.  I remember being tied down and how frustrating it was.  I remember being thankful I could sign and Lawrence could read my fingerspelling, even if it was slow.  I remember that there was a button I could push that would probably have let me sleep and make it all go away for a little while, but my baby needed me and I wouldn't do it.  I remember wanting nothing more than to sit up by myself, to roll over, to breathe without feeling like my ribs were rubbing against sandpaper-- and it came, with time.  I remember my mom telling me that she was with Shawn and I remember thinking that I wanted him to bring her back so she could be with me.

Some people say it's a blessing that I don't remember much, but there are things I want to remember and I don't know that I ever will.  I want to remember the last thing I said to Ethne.  I want to remember why I took that turn when I did.  I want to remember the things I believe I probably saw/heard while I was unconscious.  I want to remember the other things I told the paramedics.  I want to remember the strangers who came to my aid and called Lawrence.  I want to remember my last minutes with my little girl and I feel like they've been stolen from me.  I want to remember and I don't care how much it would hurt, because not remembering hurts more.



But these are things that I will likely never remember and others I will never forget.  So I will hold on to what I do have with all my might, because remembering is what keeps me going.

-Melissa