A memorial notice, and memory

I am thinking about starting a knitting class at the Weinberg Cancer Center, so I perused my email for the name of a volunteer I met there. As I looked back at the date of the email, January 16th, and it brings me some sense of timing...relief that Mike was so engaged just 12 days before his passing. I can only remember that Mike seemed fine, and he got weak for two days, and then he was gone. I was really shocked, and I attribute my lack of warning signs to the amnesic effects of grief. But the reality is that there was no suffering that I can't remember...I just imagine it must of happened.

My real memory is January 16th at Weinberg. I saw him across the room, having a conversation with Allie, and he was not a slave to his fate. He was living well, sharing, listening, smiling. And the last week we had at home was good: we were still holding one another, smiling, laughing. It was just those two days. My grief embellishes my memory with imagined events that only unfurl my instinct to blame myself for not seeing the signs beforehand, so I can now blame myself for not preparing better. Blame myself for not staying awake for the final breath. Blame myself for not saving him. Grief is tricky. Very tricky.

I received an invitation to a memorial service being held by Johns Hopkins Children's Center, in memory of all the children and young adults who became angels. I'm hoping to bring memories of the beautiful reality of his life with me.