Made-Up Memories

I've had a decent amount of time in the evenings to hide in my craft room and sew for hours while I wait for Kyle to get off from his second job. I sit hunched over my sewing machine or my cutting mat just crafting away - all the while humming to some random songs and locking myself in my mind to ponder my life.

Lia has been the focus of those ponderings, just like every other night.

I find that I am thinking of her less often as the thirteen-ounce carbon copy of myself that I only held for what seemed like a moment. I can still see her face, but it is slowly fading into the background. Sometimes I pull out the picture of her tiny face all wrinkled in a scowl to remember what she looked like - although I'm reminded each time that I need only to glance in the mirror to recall her features.

No, now when I think of my first-born daughter, I see a young girl, maybe four or five years old, all smiles and bright eyes - brown, like her daddy's - playing in a field of swaying green clover. She talks to me, and we spend sunny afternoons under a big tree discussing what she did that day. We walk down the paths hand in hand, and she points out her favorite flowers and tries in that adorable-little-girl way to explain why the butterflies love to dance among them. I carry her on my hip and give her mo-ki-mo's (eskimo kisses) and tell her how much I miss her. My girl will sometimes lay her head in my lap as the moon comes up and tell her stories about all the constellations while I play with her long brown hair. There are some days that her daddy joins me and we picnic by the river as a happy family, catching fireflies in the twilight and dipping our toes in the water ... giggling when we splash too hard.

Such precious memories they are - and so very make-believe. I have very few memories of my little girl, and though I never had the chance to hear her voice or comb her hair or see what color her eyes were - I will always remember my time with her. My mind concocts these other situations, and in my solitude I live in her world and spend the time with her that I will never get this side of heaven. Call it my coping mechanism, call it foolish daydreaming, call it whatever you wish. But it is my only connection to a relationship with my eldest child - and I treasure every imagined moment.

So - I have revealed to you my made-up memories of Auralia. Think what you will of me; think me crazy or lonely or just plain depressed - but know that I am none of those.

I am only crazy in love with my child. I could never be lonely in this world with Kyle by my side, and depressed? Hardly. I am filled with joy for the time I had with Lia on this earth, the time in my mind I spend with her now, and the eternity with her in Glory.

Oh, there's one more made-up memory I'd like to share with you:

Lia and I are sitting in a patch of clover, back under our big tree. I pull her into my lap and hold her face in my hands. "Lia, I have something I need to ask you," I say softly.
"What, Mommy?"
I take a deep breath. "I need to know what you think of being a big sister."
I can see my Lia's face cross with confusion for a moment, then grin as comprehension overwhelms her. "I gonna be a sister?" She says it with a little high-pitched squeak.
I imagine her hugging me and then laying her small hands on my flat belly as I say through my tears, "You are one right now..."
The rest of that "memory" is the two of us meeting up with Kyle in a meadow, and I try not to cry when she runs through the grass to jump in his arms to tell him how happy she is that she's a sister. We all laugh at her antics and spend the evening hearing Lia's opinion on names we should choose.

And after enjoying my time with her, reality strikes and I'm brought back to my craft room, back to my solitude. I check the time, and calculate what all I could get finished before Kyle returns. I let the dogs out in the yard, and think about my dinner plans (or lack thereof). I smile at the picture of Lia's tiny feet and imagine her passing me a perfectly formed clover through the haze of my make-believe haven.

"I picked this one just for the baby, Mommy ... "