Mem'ries

Ryan is just about in every waking moment of every day. Or, as often as he can be, when thoughts of work or life in general aren't occupying and invading that space that I'd prefer to be all his.

I know that realistically I can't think about him 24/7, as much as I may want to. If I did, people would seriously start to question my sanity, which is already on shaky ground. But, there are some days when I just can't focus on anything but Ryan.

Today is one of those days.

The instant my eyes flew open at 5:45 this morning, I looked at his picture on the armoire and mumbled a "good morning" to that angelic image frozen in time. As I went into the our bedroom closet to choose today's attire, I looked at his framed handprints and footprints, marveling at their perfection. As I made my lunch, I remembered all the goodies I'd eat while pregnant and how they would get him dancing in my tummy. Once I got to work, I immediately looked at the Polaroid of me that's tacked to my cube wall, where my belly is out to there, snapped just two weeks before his birth. I constantly look at the picture that sits on my desk, right next to my computer monitor. Several times today I've kissed the cross that hangs from my neck, which contains a smidgen of Ryan's ashes. When I go into the bathroom at work, I clearly remember the times I'd go in there to be alone with my baby - just he and I - and we'd have the greatest talks about everything we were going to do together once he arrived. I even have his 20-week ultrasound picture as my wallpaper on my cell phone. And, every night, the last thing I utter before closing my weary eyes is, "I love you, Ryan."

Am I nuts or just a mother who misses her baby?

I certainly hope it's the latter, but I often wonder if people on the outside think I'm obsessed.

They just don't understand, though. I have so few tangible things associated with Ryan, and our time after his birth was so short and distraught, that I feel the need and desire to desperately hang on to those things I hold dear.

I worry that everyone around me will eventually forget Ryan since his life consisted of only two days. Others don't have the day-to-day reminders and memories that I have. His life and untimely death don't affect other people the way I'm affected. He was a part of me; he came from my body - every bit of him, down to his perfect little feet.

As his mother, I could never forget him, but no one else had that same connection. Me, Mike, Mike's mom, and her husband were the only family or friends to see and hold Ryan. To everyone else, he was one-dimensional and seemed to only exist in pictures or stories. That's why I worry that people will think I'm off my rocker for wanting to talk about a little life that most never got to see or touch, let alone know. Our 40 weeks and two days together is a cherished memory that I will always want to share with anyone who will listen. But, I don't want people referring to me as the kook who can't stop talking about her baby who died.

How in the world do I balance all these memories - good and bad - and work them into my everyday life in a positive way?