By Kelly Helton (Talk to Me!)
“Alissa! Alissa, where are you?”
“In the living room, David.”
“Hi, honey. What are you doing with all those pictures?”
“Going through them. I’m trying to decide which ones to keep and which ones to toss.”
“Why?”
“They were taking up too much room. And besides, we probably don’t remember half of the occasions in the pictures.”
“Oh, come on. You’ve got a better memory than that!”
“I guess. Oh! Here’s one I remember. It’s from the camping trip we took with our parents.”
“Oh, gosh. Remember when your dad fell asleep in that patch of poison ivy?”
“How could I forget? He was putting on calamine lotion every three hours for a week!”
“Or this one? It was that Christmas party we went to a couple houses down?”
“Was that the time I mistook the Jello shots for candles?”
“Yes. How long did it take for your eyebrow to grow back?”
“Two weeks. It was awful!”
“But you made it!”
“Yeah. I guess I did.”
“Remember this one? Your parents sent us to Saint Thomas after Lucy—“
“Of course I remember that! If you want it, take it. I don’t want to keep it.”
“What? Why not? That trip was fantastic!”
“It was! I’m not saying it wasn’t. It just reminds me too much of Lucy.”
“It’s not a bad thing to talk about her, you know. The counselor said we were supposed to talk about her. It’s part of grieving, Alissa!”
“I know, I know! I talked about her plenty in those counseling sessions we had together! Even in the individual ones you made me go to.”
“Alissa, it’s not a bad thing to go to counseling! Our daughter died! Our infant daughter died!”
“David, shut up! I don’t want to talk about this right now!”
“You don’t ever want to talk about it! Alissa, it’s been two years. We aren’t supposed to forget Lucy, not ever. But we are supposed to move on. We have to heal.”
“I have healed! I have moved on! We’re different people, David. We will heal and move on at different paces.”
“That’s true, but I know you better than that, Alissa. We’ve been married for five years.”
“Yes, David. Five wonderful years. Now are you going to help me with these pictures or not?”
“I guess. Hey! What are you doing with that picture of Lucy?”
“Putting it in the pile of pictures to throw away. Why?”
“I want it. Why would you throw away a picture of Lucy?”
“We’ve got plenty. They’re all in frames upstairs.”
“I mean pictures to put up at your desk or on the refrigerator. Those four by sixes that you use as a bookmark in your favorite book.”
“I don’t want those kinds of pictures. I’m perfectly content with the ones we’ve got upstairs. Do you think I should keep this one of my parents from last Christmas?”
“Alissa, you’re changing the subject. When you feel sad, cry. When your heart is breaking, cry for heaven’s sake! Cry because there is a hole in your heart that will never be filled no matter what you do!”
“David, I cried out all my tears when Lucy died! I don’t have any more tears!”
“And if I weren’t here, we’d have no more pictures of Lucy!”
“That’s not true! I wouldn’t throw them all away!”
“But wouldn’t you? Alissa, ever since the funeral, you’ve done all you can to forget!”
“No! David, you’re being unfair! How can you expect me to be over it?”
“I don’t expect you to be over it, Alissa! There is no way for anyone who loses a child to ever be over it! But you should move on! Live your life again! Is forgetting Lucy the way you want to honor her life?”
“How dare you! She grew in me! I felt her hiccups and her kicks! I gave her life!”
“I know that, Alissa! Half of her genes were mine!”
“Then help me, David! Please! Help me get to where you are!”
“I’m trying, Alissa! I’ve been trying for the past two years!”
“Well it’s not working! I’m still where I was two years ago: feeling lost and trying to keep my head above water in the sea of despair.”
“Fine then. Be that way. Just set aside all of the pictures of Lucy for me. I want to keep them.”
“I suppose I can do that.”
“But Alissa? In five, ten, fifteen years, when you wish you had more to remember Lucy by than pictures under glass, don’t come crying to me.”
“Alissa! Alissa, where are you?”
“In the living room, David.”
“Hi, honey. What are you doing with all those pictures?”
“Going through them. I’m trying to decide which ones to keep and which ones to toss.”
“Why?”
“They were taking up too much room. And besides, we probably don’t remember half of the occasions in the pictures.”
“Oh, come on. You’ve got a better memory than that!”
“I guess. Oh! Here’s one I remember. It’s from the camping trip we took with our parents.”
“Oh, gosh. Remember when your dad fell asleep in that patch of poison ivy?”
“How could I forget? He was putting on calamine lotion every three hours for a week!”
“Or this one? It was that Christmas party we went to a couple houses down?”
“Was that the time I mistook the Jello shots for candles?”
“Yes. How long did it take for your eyebrow to grow back?”
“Two weeks. It was awful!”
“But you made it!”
“Yeah. I guess I did.”
“Remember this one? Your parents sent us to Saint Thomas after Lucy—“
“Of course I remember that! If you want it, take it. I don’t want to keep it.”
“What? Why not? That trip was fantastic!”
“It was! I’m not saying it wasn’t. It just reminds me too much of Lucy.”
“It’s not a bad thing to talk about her, you know. The counselor said we were supposed to talk about her. It’s part of grieving, Alissa!”
“I know, I know! I talked about her plenty in those counseling sessions we had together! Even in the individual ones you made me go to.”
“Alissa, it’s not a bad thing to go to counseling! Our daughter died! Our infant daughter died!”
“David, shut up! I don’t want to talk about this right now!”
“You don’t ever want to talk about it! Alissa, it’s been two years. We aren’t supposed to forget Lucy, not ever. But we are supposed to move on. We have to heal.”
“I have healed! I have moved on! We’re different people, David. We will heal and move on at different paces.”
“That’s true, but I know you better than that, Alissa. We’ve been married for five years.”
“Yes, David. Five wonderful years. Now are you going to help me with these pictures or not?”
“I guess. Hey! What are you doing with that picture of Lucy?”
“Putting it in the pile of pictures to throw away. Why?”
“I want it. Why would you throw away a picture of Lucy?”
“We’ve got plenty. They’re all in frames upstairs.”
“I mean pictures to put up at your desk or on the refrigerator. Those four by sixes that you use as a bookmark in your favorite book.”
“I don’t want those kinds of pictures. I’m perfectly content with the ones we’ve got upstairs. Do you think I should keep this one of my parents from last Christmas?”
“Alissa, you’re changing the subject. When you feel sad, cry. When your heart is breaking, cry for heaven’s sake! Cry because there is a hole in your heart that will never be filled no matter what you do!”
“David, I cried out all my tears when Lucy died! I don’t have any more tears!”
“And if I weren’t here, we’d have no more pictures of Lucy!”
“That’s not true! I wouldn’t throw them all away!”
“But wouldn’t you? Alissa, ever since the funeral, you’ve done all you can to forget!”
“No! David, you’re being unfair! How can you expect me to be over it?”
“I don’t expect you to be over it, Alissa! There is no way for anyone who loses a child to ever be over it! But you should move on! Live your life again! Is forgetting Lucy the way you want to honor her life?”
“How dare you! She grew in me! I felt her hiccups and her kicks! I gave her life!”
“I know that, Alissa! Half of her genes were mine!”
“Then help me, David! Please! Help me get to where you are!”
“I’m trying, Alissa! I’ve been trying for the past two years!”
“Well it’s not working! I’m still where I was two years ago: feeling lost and trying to keep my head above water in the sea of despair.”
“Fine then. Be that way. Just set aside all of the pictures of Lucy for me. I want to keep them.”
“I suppose I can do that.”
“But Alissa? In five, ten, fifteen years, when you wish you had more to remember Lucy by than pictures under glass, don’t come crying to me.”