Christina, Act III

In some ways, ten years is a long time ago. If I walked back into that hospital, I couldn't find that room. I've added two daughters to my family since then. The job that was new then, feels like part of me now. Something I've always done. In ten years the world has completely changed.

In other ways, though, ten years is not that long ago. The same picture of Christina hangs on the wall of my parents house. It doesn't feel aged. When I think of the time in the hospital, the words, the crying, it still feels fresh. This is not what happened, but what is happening. You don't want to let go of the pain and loss, because that is what you still have.

The head and the heart wage war in this space, trying to come to a compromise, so you search for a fragment a reminder of the past that still exists today.

I did an Internet search today, as I have done many times over the years, to see what remains, what I can find out about the hidden portions of my cousins life. Maybe get to know her just a little more. I learn she lived 7806 days and in 15 days it will be the annevesery of her passing. These don't help anything. I see some memorial websites, which tell me people have posted simple thoughts, such as "You were on my mind today," as recently as a year ago. While this doesn't make the war any better, it tells me I am not alone.

In my office, no one knows I've been trying to figure out why this is so important to me. Why it feels like a war and why I want to find that remnant. Then it occurs to me. Christina may have passed on, but the life she lived we still hold. Her mom and dad, me, Dave and Rainbow. We each know the story of Christina, at least the portion she shared with as, and the remnants we hold belong together. I want to find the remnant because it makes the thing I know more valuable, for a moment brings her back. She can make us smile and laugh and worry and cry. I'm not going to find that in memorial web pages, or old address links.

Today I wrote a few people who might be able to share a memory with me, and who might be interested in the memories I hold.