A few weeks ago, I had blogged about memories popping into my head from our hospital stay back in February. It was a long, brutal, emotional month and in the days following Bryan’s death, those memories would creep into my mind threatening to consume me. I would slam the door in their face. I wasn’t ready to think about them.
A part of me wants to bury them forever. Why re-visit the past? that part says. Why torture myself with something that cannot be changed? What’s the purpose in opening the wounds of my heart that have started to heal?
BUT. The writer part of me needs to record them, even if I never re-read them again. What if those memories disappear forever? They may be bad, but they’re part of who I am and they’re a part of Bryan. We promised to take care of each other in sickness and in health, forsaking all others. For the short time we were married, and for the time before we were married, we did just that. I have to tuck all of those memories in a safe place to honor that.
The psychology part of me is in accord with the writer part because writing those memories down allows me to examine them. Examining them allows for healing. I need to pick them apart, layer by layer, asking myself the hard questions for each one.
I had posted Facebook status that month, keeping everyone up to date on the practical parts of our hospital stay. What I didn’t post, however, were the fears I had. I was trying so desperately to keep a positive outlook on what was going on that I shoved negativity into a closet at the back of mind. We had no time to dwell on the possibility that Bryan would never leave the hospital, even though each day that passed drove that nail in just a little more.
I will record the memories. But I may or may not share them.