My wedding anniversary isn’t the only anniversary I am experiencing this week.
This week also happens to contain the anniversary day of when my first baby was taken from my womb and delivered to the arms of Jesus.
August 6th, 2009, I was sitting in the doctor’s office with my mom.
We knew something was very wrong because the nurse wasn’t finding what she should have seen on the screen of the ultrasound. My mom and I sat there, trying to smile in the sterile, off-white room and talk about anything other than the news that I was waiting to hear. I could tell by my mom’s gentle and carefully chosen words that I should be expecting the worst. But I didn’t want to believe it until I heard the final answer from the doctor.
As I tried [and failed] to occupy my mind, all I could hear was the music from the radio floating above me. The song, “Time to say Goodbye,” was pouring out of the speakers in a rich, orchestral arrangement. Although this version was only instrumental, I knew the words of the song by heart and as I heard the stirring, melancholy melody of the violins crescendo, it felt like the music entered my soul and swirled around me like gust of purposeful wind.
And then that wind drifted away….
And the doctor walked in.
But my heart already knew.
I remember all the details from that day. Every reaction, every location, every feeling.
But as I write, those details are having a hard time coming out onto the page. Perhaps I’m too afraid to look at those precious details in black and white. Perhaps I am worried that no one will understand the weight and importance of each specific memory. Or perhaps my heart just wants to hold onto the preciousness of those secrets for a little while longer.
These details are too painfully beautiful to me. Too important. I’m not ready for these memories to lose their depth by typing them onto a flat page. Perhaps someday I will be skilled enough to communicate those memories in a way that does justice to their value.
But for today, I will simply remember.