I find myself struggling to remember that, with Elena, there was a before. There was a time when we were naïve and unaware of the world that is now our life. I was a new, young working mother dreaming about the future of our new family, and worrying about my “problems”. It’s easy to look back and think about what I would have done differently, but time doesn’t allow for that.
Every year in the weeks leading up to that day, I replay all the memories I have of the “before”, holding onto them dearly. Because with every year that passes, those people who were, that time that was, seems to slip further away. When I look at the last picture we took, I’m filled with a deep sorrow. I know, now, what’s to come. And that fear, the grief, the sorrow, the heartbreak are all still very real and tangible. Perhaps I will relive it for the rest of my life.
And so I wait. I endure the now. I wait for the day to arrive so I can remember, cry, grieve. But I always remember that she lived. And for that, I owe to God for saving her and for sustaining me the past six years. Even in the pain, there is always goodness.
