While we are surviving grief it can be easier to sit in some of our heavier memories: those filled with fear, regret and mourning more closely match the pain we are internalizing. So, this week, I tried to shift my mindset and spend time with the good memories, the ones that brought laughter to my lips, energy to my eyes and harmony to my heart. After all, isn’t that how we would like to be remembered? When I am gone I don’t want to be remembered as a mother that lost her child and lived in debilitating grief forever after. I want to be remembered as a woman who fought for her child and then went on to fight for others, who loved deeply, laughed loudly and shared widely. Likewise, I don’t want Adelaide to be remembered only as a child who suffered and died. This is part of her story, but is not her whole story. She was also a brave warrior who clung to this world. If she had wanted to give up and let go of life, before her brain and body ultimately betrayed her, then she could have -  several times over. But she didn’t, she kept fighting. Even up until she took her final breaths she was fighting. Instead of focusing on how much I hate that she had to fight at all, today I choose to focus on how ferocious her fight was and how much light she brought into our lives.

When reminiscing on some of my favorite moments with Adelaide, I think about one night when I was giving her a bath when she was maybe 18 months old. Smiles and laughs were always hard to get from Adelaide long before we lost them both for good. But on this night, in the bath tub, I was tickling her in her baby bath chair and she was giving me full on belly giggles, kicking her legs and squealing in delight. So often with our nonverbal kiddos we rely heavily on their smiles to bring us joy and relief. But by the time Adelaide was two we no longer had this barometer so we had to look elsewhere for her joy: in the way she calmed when she heard Frank Sinatra playing or how she would peak at the pages of the books we read. Then there were the moments we could share as a family. “Swimming” in our friends (not very hot) hot tub. Jackson was a fish zooming around and Adelaide wore a floatie around her neck allowing her to be weightless in the water and swim with her brother. Now, I could dwell on the fact that I love this memory because it felt like what a ‘normal’ family would experience. How this is simply a regular Saturday afternoon for so many. Instead I will acknowledge that truth and put it aside to focus on the joy this memory brings me. Not why it brings me that joy, but just the joy itself.

Most of my favorite memories of Adelaide aren’t stand alone moments, but instead, compilations of everyday moments. Jackson and Adelaide cuddling on the couch each morning that she wasn’t in the hospital. Sure, she wasn’t always as down for the cuddle as Jackson may have been and swatted at him accordingly, but there was no vision that filled my heart more than Adelaide’s head snuggled in the crook of Jackson’s chest and his arm around her. Then there was laying in bed with her at night after we’d read stories and I would sing to her. She lost the ability to reach for and hold on to objects before she turned three but I would put my finger in her hand and she would squeeze it. I’m pretty sure she knew that as long as she held on to my finger there was no way I was getting out of her bed. So, we would lay there until she fell asleep and let go on her own. 

These memories still bring tears to my eyes as I type them but they are happy tears and, yes, tears because I miss her and I miss these moments. Still, how amazing that I have them to look back on. I won’t say I’m grateful because I’m a little over gratitude these days. It’s hard to be grateful for these moments when I can’t help but acknowledge what they cost. However, that doesn’t mean I can’t still enjoy them - even if they still bring tears to my eyes. We get to choose the lenses through which we view the world. There is a time to break out our critical glasses and a time to put them away. Part of my healing journey is to choose to spend more time with Adelaide’s positive moments. The negative memories aren’t going anywhere, and I don’t want them to, but they can be boxed up and placed on a high shelf for this next leg. Right now I choose to remember her laughing, swimming and holding my finger with all the fierceness of her warrior self.