Tuesday, June 4, 2019

I want to remember, I want to forget

I want to remember your smile, it's so cliche to say it lit up a room. No, your smile provided me peace, as long as you were smiling everything would be okay. I want to remember when I picked you up at school after not having seen you in three years. You had grown taller than me and now had defined muscles and you were no longer that chubby little boy. I held on tight as tears flowed from my eyes, joy, and relief. You pulled back and smiled, "I knew you were going to cry," you said with a smile. 

I want to remember you as my little boy who always wanted to be with his mom. I want to remember the first time I held you. I want to remember your light-heartedness, the times you were carefree and wild. You were my wild child, daring to live life on your own terms. Though as your mother that scared me at times, it also inspired me to be a little more willing to take chances. I want to remember the times you were happy, the pranks you played, your laughter. I want to remember you this way.

I want to forget every tear you ever cried. I want to forget the times when this world broke your tender heart. I want to forget that day, the sound of the gunshot. I want to forget devastation I felt when they told me you didn't survive. I want to forget watching them wheel your covered body out on a stretcher and knowing I would never see you again. I want to forget the indescribable pain.

Some days I want to forget it all. I wonder if amnesia would be easier. With each blissful memory comes the realization that it's over. There will never be another moment that I want to remember, no new memories created. That wouldn't be fair to you. You lived and as painful as it is, I must remember it all. I must honor and appreciate you for who you were and the short time we had together. I must hold you in every little piece of my shattered heart.

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