“Do you remember Molly?” She was laying on the ground drawing when she rolled over on her back…her hair flopping over, and her glasses rolled back.
Her question caught me off guard…where was she heading with it, and what did she exactly mean by it?
Was it actually possible to forget someone whos had such a big impact on your life? Possible to forget someone who was a part of your life for almost five years? I didnt think it was.
Infact, I had asked myself that before. Would I someday just forget? At times, I wished I could…but only came with a conclusion that I would not ever be able to forget. “Yea…I remember her…” I finally said. She seemed satisfied with that, and rolled back over to continue drawing. She adjusted her glasses, and acted as if she had never even asked such a question. I waited a few minutes, and then, as casually as I could, asked her where she had come up with a question like that. She looked up. “Oh…well you dont ever talk about her…I just thought maybe you didnt remember her’s all…” she turned her attention back to what she had been doing.
Of course…I remember Molly….but shes right. I dont talk about her, anyone would assume I had just…forgotten all about her. I can come up with excuses…but the facts are I dont talk about her around the kids, or anyone else, for that matter. Its not that I dont remember her, its just that I dont want to bring something that is in the past…into the future. Its a hard line, figuring out just what past things should follow into the future. I havent talked about her around the kids. I havent mentioned her name. But I havent, forgotten her either.
I remember her love of music…and how she loved to dance. She had her own style, her own type, and her own beat. But she loved that special time of day when she was aloud to turn the tv on and bop it up to her favorite tunes. I remember how she used to sit on the floor, legs out behind her, sideways as only she could do, with 1/2 her sandwich in each hand, taking bites out of both pieces. I remember the time she “Shared” with the dog. She hated dogs. They scared her, but one day she decided that she needed to share her chicken with one of the dogs. I remember her look when I walked into the room just as she tossed her chicken across the room. I remember her smiles, and laughs, and her stubborn attitude that often times found us head to head, fighting for the last say. I remember her style…the way she did things…I remember how she loved to be alone…in her own world…at certain times, but at other times, she wanted to be all about the audience. I remember her love/hate relationship with socks…the way she had to have them on in the morning, but by mid afternoon, they would be long gone. I remember the way her face would wrinkle up when she was in deep concentration, and the way it would light up when she finally figured something out…on her own. Her “Do it myself” attitude seemed to follow her, her entire life…
I remember when she first tried out for soccer. How HAPPY she was just to be out there with kids, and balls, and everything else. I remember laughing when she was being chased by the ball…She assumed that playing soccer, was getting chased with a ball…she really had no idea how to play, but she loved being out there. The time she demanded her training wheels be taken off her bike, I remember thinking I was letting her go. I was taking her wheels off, and letting her go. As soon as she took off, she tipped over…she got up, and yelled at her bike. Of course, it was the bikes fault…
I remember reaching for her hand, and her sliding hers into mine and she slipped of the chair in the hopsital waiting room, after her dad had passed. She was so young, so innocent…so little….I remember walking her up to the hospital, the day of her surgery, listening to her say how hungry she was. I had promised her McDonalds, after she was better and she seemed satisfied with that. A few hours later, she went under surgery. Those two weeks, were some of the longest two weeks I remember with her. The waiting. Wondering. Wishing. Hoping. Wanting the best for her, but not knowing what the best was…if she came out there was the possibility that she would have no recognition of anything. There was the possibility that she would wake up with a blank slate…and we would have to start all over. Would that be the best for her?
…and I remember the day they unhooked her from the machines…the day that would ultimately decide if she would make it or not…
I remember her. I remember her in bits and pieces. I remember different things at different times. I remember her when a song comes on the radio…and I can see her swing herself around…landing on the floor in a heap…laughing at herself. I remember her when I see a certain book, and remember her frustration when she couldnt read the words. I remember her when I walk on the beaches and when I dodge the rain. I remember her everyday, throughout the day, and into the night…and maybe someday, when Madi asks this question again, I will have a better answer…a more thoughtful response…or perhaps some way of summing everything up. Maybe someday Molly’s name will be more than just a distant memory that seems to be taboo. Maybe.