Moments

While Sully was with us, we made his hand print and foot print that now hang on our living room wall. I look at them all the time. Not a stop and stare look but always here and there out of the corner of my eye as I go about my day. From where I sit at our family table they are in my direct line of vision. A while back the double sided tape gave way to the weight of the clay and his hand print came off the mat and fell an inch or so to the bottom of the shadow box frame. I noticed it right away. I didn't fix it right away. I wondered if other people noticed when they came in and out of our house. Does anyone see his hand print has fallen? Do they wonder that I haven't repaired it? Do they wonder if I've even noticed? Strange things go through your head. Last night, in a fit of orderliness, I finally pulled it down and super glued the clay back to the foam tape. As I pulled the cold clay out of the box frame, I traced his sweet little hand. How small it was. I remember the day we made the impression. It all comes rushing back to me as I feel the little crevices of his fingers and wrinkly skin. I can't believe what has happened. I break down and cry and realize, this is why I couldn't fix it for so long. Maybe somewhere inside me I knew how hard it would be and so I let myself stare at the fallen hand print instead of facing the weeping mother in my heart.


It happened again one afternoon as I looked at a photo of Ella and Zane holding Sully. I noticed the white headband in Ella's hair and wondered where it was. She doesn't like to fuss much with her hair, but that was one of the headbands she rarely would choose to wear on her own. A while back, I gave most of her headbands away, and suddenly I panicked that I had given that one away. I raced to her room and went through her draw of random stuff and hair things. I couldn't find it and hated myself for giving it away. I just wanted to hold it. Weird, I know. But it felt like a piece of that moment that Sully was with us, and somehow in the irrationality of grief, I believed holding that headband would give me that moment back. Despite fearing looking stupid, I asked for the white headband back, and when I saw it again and held it, I cried.