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What they don’t tell you when someone you love dies is that eventually, things you will fade. Not immediately, but they will.
You may not forget their voice or even their face, but you won’t remember every wrinkle or every freckle. Over time, maybe some of your more minute conversations may even fade from memory.
Is that wrong? Maybe. Do you do it on purpose? Maybe. Maybe that is how we grow around our grief-- the only thing that helps is to forget. Our brains can’t hold onto everything forever.
However, you won’t forget the smile. That slightly crooked front tooth, and the same pink lipstick everyday for years. The same lipstick you still have sitting in the driver side door of their car, that you just can’t bring yourself to throw away. Or the eyes. Of course the laugh. The Mexican sundaes with peanuts on hot and sticky summer nights. The snacks before sports games. Or when they brought you lunch to school, just because you asked (fries from Mcdonalds, cheeseburger from Burger King obviously). You won’t forget the energy that they radiated, or the laughter and joy that you shared. What I wouldn’t do for one of their peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, with lightly salted potato chips and some Sunny D. Now, you couldn’t pay me to eat a peanut butter and jelly of my own free will-- they aren’t remotely good. But for one of theirs and a good conversation, I can’t think of much I wouldn’t give. The way I used to always drive by and see if they were home, whenever I was driving home. I’d always stop in if they were home.
Or that time you and your sister made a cake so ugly that no one in your family would eat it-- so you brought it over there because you both knew they would love it, compliment it, and even eat it, Regardless of the heinous green and yellow coloring that you had somehow opted for.. In fact, once you got there you all had a slice together and laughed.
How when you forgot your credit card at a restaurant, they came and bailed you out. Or how when you backed into the neighbors car at 7am before school, you called them and made them tell the neighbors. Or, more importantly, how they didn't even tell your parents that you hit the neighbors car and instead gave you their car and took your car straight to the shop.
Like I said, you may not remember every detail of every conversation, but you'll remember the fact that you had those conversations.
Suddenly it makes sense-- what’s really important. It’s true that they may not remember what color shoes you wore or how you did your hair. It’s those moments. The yellow cake with chocolate frosting. The way she complimented your outfits every time she saw you, even if you weren’t wearing anything special. The way you’d show her what you got after a big shopping trip, or on christmas morning.
So, what will people actually remember about you? What will people want to do with you, just one more time? They may not remember the wrinkles or the fancy-dancy details, but they’ll remember you. Be it good or bad. I've found, that those moments won't even feel that important until you can't have them back.
