Memories Unstoppable

I have a slideshow that plays in my head.
It's personal,
Intense,
Drives sadness,
Incites triumph,
But mostly, it's just mine.
I suppose that this is probably normal.
I hope it is, at least.
That trauma survivors replay events.
And I assume that it is normal for it to intensify as anniversaries approach.

Anniversaries are approaching.
And I feel in some ways like I am on a train.
The course is chosen,
The tickets bought.
I can't get off,
Even if I feel we are going too fast,
Or not fast enough.
The control of this journey is not mine.
I know I'm going to pass every stop,
See every sight,
And eventually get to some destination.
I hope that destination is fulfilling and peaceful.

Don't get me wrong.
I am grateful.
Tremendously so.
I had some terrifying months.
Yet those months also brought great joy.
And I know that I am blessed.
That a few months are but a blip on the radar for the lifetime I get to spend with my daughter.

But still,
The train goes on,
Passes through many emotions.
Often unexpected,
Unstoppable.

This week last year we had a significant snowstorm.
I also turned 36.
And though we were stuck in the house for a week,
I remember it as a magical time.
I had just learned my baby was to be my first daughter.
Ephram and Charlie were so excited about the snow.
I felt that all was perfect.
I was secure in my marriage, my health and my family.
I was safe.
I also remember that it was at my appointment a week later that it all started to change.

Tonight as I rocked Macie to sleep,
I watched the snow fall outside.
And again the pictures cascaded in my head.
Memories so dear,
Intense,
Mine.

One year past... this is where it starts.
The stream of anniversaries will soon hit.
First appointment that resulted in modified bed rest.
First hospital stint with a husband half a world away.
Restrictive bed rest while caring for an autistic son and a toddler.
Warning of hospitalization.
The hospitalization itself
The day I got the headache to end all headaches.
The day that ended with a beautiful girl.
The heartbreak in learning of her double collapsed lungs,
The pain of seeing my baby suffering.
The triumph of her speedy turnaround.
The day that she started to eat.
The day that she was tube- and wire-free.
Her homecoming.
Watching the bond develop with her brothers.
The night we had to call 911.
The day that she first completed a feeding without any supplements.
The day she finally hit the growth charts.

I hope I can live through these months remembering all that I have,
And not dwelling on all that could have been.

So, my apologies if I wax nostalgic too much in the next few months,
If I seem teary,
Or if I talk too much about something that doesn't seem as huge to everyone else as it is to me.
This is a glimpse of the pictures that play in my head.
They fly by when I'm falling asleep,
Getting ready for the day,
Watching my sleeping daughter,
Or just at a random moment of no extraordinary consequence.
This, the unstoppable stream.