The Memory Box

I went Christmas shopping in town today. On my drive home I had a moment of realisation - I felt happy today. Actually happy. And comfortable. Normal. What a feeling.

It’s the 13 December. 6 months after Marty was born. We decided we would finally organise his memory box. All of the little things (quite literally) we’d kept along our short journey.

I put Robyn to bed then we sat on the floor, next to the Christmas tree, and we started. The box ended up full to the brim, and so were we, with love for this boy.

Seeing and holding all of his things…

It hits you like a bullet again. You’re right back there. It feels like that bit of you is dying inside all over again. The despair. The disbelief and desperation. Looking into each others watery eyes, knowing you’re in exactly the same place, ‘please don’t let this be happening’. Slowly crumbling away. You just hold each other, in silence. Maybe if you just keep holding it’ll go away, it’ll all stop happening? You can jump from this crash. But you let go, and you’re still there.

Fast forward 6 months, and you’re in town, Christmas shopping, and noticing that you feel happy.

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