Forget-Me-Not

I’m terrified that I’ll forget you.

It’s an irrational fear, I know—and one that the literature says is not uncommon—but I find myself worrying about it nonetheless. What would happen if February 17th rolled by and I didn’t realize that it was your birthday? Is it possible that I could forget that you were murdered on May 28th? What if, recalling your face, I were to find that it had become progressively fainter and less well-defined, until finally it had turned into a vague, murky watermark that bore little resemblance to the real Rachel? What if I forgot to love you?

Intellectually, I know that this is silly. I’ll never forget you. Neither will Lesley or Debbie, nor your friends. And we’ll make sure that Shaylyn, as young as she is, never forgets her mommy, either.

In the end, I suppose I don’t really have to worry: You’re the last thing I think about when I go to sleep at night and the first thing I think about every morning. And since I think about you so often during the day, I guess what it boils down to is that I’ll always think of you, more or less constantly, and I’ll always love you.

Which, now that I think about it, isn't really so different from when you were alive.

Love,

Dad