Dec. 16

Yesterday was Chris' birthday. I wasn't sure whether I should say "happy birthday," so I just pointed out, "It's your birthday today," and he nodded in acknowledgment. It's odd going through the mail and finding sympathy cards mixed in with holiday and birthday cards.

The last of Garrett's clothes have now made it through the wash: a onesie that said "Feed me or nobody sleeps," which really wasn't true to his quiet nature; another that read "I love hugs," which was more accurate; and a blue and white striped sleeper with "Daddy's little helper" in red letters around a blue tow truck. I didn't cry over handling them this time, but caressed the fabric once more as I put the pieces away ... Well, as I put the them in a bag in the crib we still need to take down. We haven't really figured out where "away" is yet.

Memories of Garrett still pop up in other unexpected places. We made French toast this morning, and as I measured out a quarter teaspoon of vanilla, I thought about how many times that particular spoon had been used in the last week of Garrett's life. He had done so well with his formula-fortified bottles in the end. At times, he'd finish two ounces and still want more. Everything seemed to be indicating he was getting better ...

Yesterday we dropped off Jonathan at Jean's to run some errands in Rochester, and as we drove to her house, I reclined my seat to a more natural angle. For a split second I wondered why it was so erect in the first place, and I then remembered it had been to avoid hitting Garrett's seat behind it. And when we stopped to fuel up at Kwik Trip on the south side of Lake City, I realized the last time we filled the van was at the same station the morning of Garrett's follow-up appointments. At the time, I had thought again how nice it was to travel with a baby who was so content to ride in the car seat.

One of the items on the to-do list yesterday was for me to get my hair cut. I'd been letting it grow extra long so I could lop off ten inches for Locks of Love and still have enough left to twirl into a quick bun without needing clips or pins to keep it in place. I thought about cutting it before Garrett was born, but remembered that the last time I donated to Locks of Love, I wound up with shorter hair than I expected and I didn't want to risk having inadequate length when I'd be hurrying to his bassinet to feed him in the middle of the night. Sure, there are other low-maintenance alternatives, but I didn't want my hair down when nursing and I didn't want to depend on hair binders or other devices to keep it out of my face (because I'd probably forget them on the bathroom counter), so I just kept the messy-bun option.

Now that I won't be getting up with Garrett multiple times a night, or worrying about little hands getting tangled in a ponytail, it doesn't really matter. It turns out there actually wasn't enough left to tie into a bun this time either. Oh well.

It's anyone's guess as to how I'll react when faced with these surprise memories. They might be met with a simple huh. I know it should hurt -- like the brief moment when you see your own palm graze the edge of a hot frying pan and you know you'll wind up with a burn, but the pain signal hasn't made it to your brain yet. Or maybe the burn has already done its damage, because there's just that numbness ... some of the time. Other times, I'll be listening to a song or thinking about some events at the hospital and expect that same numbness, since I've heard those same lyrics or relived those given hours numerous times already. And yet that's when the beast of grief awakens and tears into my heart again.

I don't know what the coming days will be like. I seem to do pretty well when I'm around other people, so maybe I'll hold up all right through the visitation and service. Then again, that's not the case if the other people are emotional, so probably not.