I’m losing track of the weeks, and that’s ok.
I have stopped being able to instantly recall how many weeks have passed since we said goodbye to Aria. I used to wake up each Saturday knowing it had been 4, 8, or 12 weeks and so forth. But somewhere around 20 weeks, I lost count.
At first, there was guilt. I thought clinging on to every measure of time without Aria was a testament to my love. No longer being able to recall the number weeks that had passed often felt as if I wasn’t devoting enough of my memory to her.
But that just isn’t true. Keeping a perfect mental record book does not make me a better mother. Losing track of the days does not lessen my love for Aria.
Right now, the months are easy for me to recall, and it will be eight months exactly tomorrow. Eventually, as the years pass, I am sure the months will also be tough to track. But I know we will always celebrate her birthday each year, and that is less likely to fade.
There will even come a day when her hat and blanket will loose her scent, and it will become more difficult to recall how she felt in my arms. We may not always remember exactly what we said to her when she was with us, or the specifics of each moment. But she will always be our daughter, and we will always have our love for her. No measure of time can take that away.