Scarves from Afghanistan

Today Darrell and I walked over to the University. We like to wander there on the weekends. It's quiet and pretty, and we can just talk without thinking about crossing streets. I wound my white scarf around my neck to keep warm but it was hot so I didn't need it. When I unwound it to carry, the memory of receiving the gift surrounded me with a soft feeling of love, beauty, and sadness. The scarf was a present from my soon-to-be daughter-in-law. She brought a white one for me and a red one for Kaylan. I remembered her teaching us how to wind our beautiful scarfs the way Afghan women wear them - around our foreheads, folded above the our cheeks, and down and around our necks. I remembered how happy my girl was to meet her future sister-in-law and to spend time with her crazy-in-love brother. Worry about forgetting is ever present in new grief, and I have written about it several times over these seven years since she died. Today is proof that a mama never forgets. Ever. Our babies are always with us. In us. They are us.

13 May 2012

In bed after a long dreamy sweet surreal day with two branches of my family. It feels okay just to lay down and weep. Looking at this photo of my mom. I remember her laugh and scent and skin.... but I don't cry for her anymore. I haven't in over 10 years. I wonder if it'll be like that with my daughter. I want to stop feeling this jagged sadness someday, and I'm so grateful she's not in pain, but I can't stand the thought that I might forget her... I won't. Will I? Is that possible?


Erica KitzmanComment