48

A young smiling face stared back at me from the photo. An ice cream cone in one hand and a stuffed bear in the other. I’d taken this photograph in 2006, meaning you would’ve been five at the time. I flipped through the others. A large binder held the laminated collection. A lifetime of memories. A short lifetime- but a lifetime, nonetheless. First day opening your eyes to the world. First steps. First doctor’s appointment. First time seeing snow. First time riding a bike. First day of kindergarten. First time seeing the ocean. First Halloween costume. You were an elephant. Your eyes glow from the camera flash, and the large felt ears atop your head looked like they could swallow you whole. I remember the face paint I used still hadn’t washed away when I dropped you off at daycare the next morning. Next time I’ll read the fine print.

I flip further through the photos. Last family trip. Last Fourth of July. Last time seeing snow. I trace my fingers across your shining, long hair and your face that lit up with joy at the sight of the snowman the neighbors had made. Last Halloween costume. You were a wizard. You didn’t feel good, so I took you home early. I bought you a bag of candies at the grocery to make up for your missed time in Trick O’ Treating. I remember the hollow noise of your plastic pumpkin bucket when you set it down on the table. It wasn’t the only thing that felt empty that night. Last doctor’s appointment. Last time walking into the hospital. I think the only thing worse than having to take your child to the hospital is having to walk out without them. First time closing your eyes for the very last time. You did lots of things for the first time. Lots of things for the last. The firsts and the lasts created the divide between you being healthy and you being sick. Most of the time you only got the chance to do something once. You only ever saw your favorite movie once, but that was enough to decide it was your favorite. You only ever stayed up until midnight on New Years once. You only ever had one slumber party. It was as though you had a lifetime of firsts, never knowing many of them would also be your last.You didn’t have enough time for much more in between. 

I continue to flip through the photos. I often wonder what people did before the invention of cameras hit the market. Was the loss heavier because once you saw their face for the last time you knew it was the last time you would ever see them again? Or was loss easier because there were no photographs to taunt your mind, reminding you that the person in these photos used to be sleeping one room away from you? The photos and the home videos are all I have left of you to prove you were once here. To prove it wasn’t all just a dream. Your room and your toys aren’t enough. I need the evidence that there really was a happy little girl that once slept in there with a colorful Please Knock sign on the door. Tears always spill from my eyes when I look at all of the old photos and listen to videos of your sweet voice, but I’ll never look away and I’ll never get tired of listening. 

You were in my dream last night. You always are, but this time it was different. I knew you were gone. Unlike all of the others, this dream took place after everything. I walked out of my room. I saw you standing in the hallway by the door. You were in your favorite sweatshirt and the leggings you always wore. I just looked at you for a long time. I didn’t want to ever take my eyes off of you. I was too scared to lose you again. I walked forward slowly. 

“Hello,” you said simply, with a small smile. 

“Are you really here?” I asked quietly. My voice was barely above a whisper. 

You nodded. “Yes.”

My eyes welled with tears. I walked closer. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes,” you said. I reached forward, touching the soft fabric of your sweatshirt.

“You’re real. You’re really here,” I said. You nodded quietly, smiling at me. I opened my mouth to say more, but the dream began to fade. My sharp vision of you blurred to darkness. I woke up. I remember. Just like that, you’re gone again. 

The dreams are like the photographs. Proof that you were once here. They’re also different. The dreams give me a fleeting hope that you’re still here. A fleeting hope that losing you was just a heartbreaking nightmare that we can finally wake up from.

I scan my eyes over more of the photographs. I find the day we went to Skyward Park. There’s a photo of you smiling on your father’s shoulders, pointing up to the tallest rollercoaster in the park. We took you there with all of your cousins. You didn’t reach the height requirement of 48 inches to ride most of the “big kid” attractions. You still insisted on going. We spent most of the day together while you waited anxiously to hear all about each of the rides from your cousins. I took you on the carousel, and I got you a large cotton candy to make up for the nine inches you lacked in height. We sat on the picnic table together, people watching. You pointed at a woman with dyed pink streaks in her hair. 

“When I grow up, I’m going to get hair like that,” You exclaimed.

 I laughed. “Okay,” I said. “You can do that when you’re older.” 

You squinted your eyes up at me. “How old?” 

I pretended to think for a moment. “How about when you’re ten? Double digits.” 

“That’s far away,” you said. 

“It’ll be here before you know it,” I told you. This answer seemed to satisfy you, and you nodded. 

“When I’m ten, will I be 48?”

I glanced at her, confused. “48?”

“48 for the rollercoaster.” 

“Yes, you’ll be 48 for the rollercoaster.” You smiled.

When you got sick, I decided there was no reason in withholding something as silly as a bright hair color from you. I just wanted to do whatever I could to make you happy. I knocked softly on your door, opening it to see you lying on your bed. I could tell you were drained. You always were after hospital stays and treatments.

“Hey, how are you doing?” I asked, sitting on the edge of your bed, reaching my hand out to yours. 

“Tired,” You mumbled.

“I’m sorry Honey. Can I get you anything?”

You shook your head.

“Well, I did some thinking, and I decided you don’t need to wait until you’re ten to dye your hair like you always wanted to. We could go to the fancy salon, and you could pick out the exact shade and everything.”

You looked at me, a soft confused expression on your face. “What are you talking about?”

My smile faltered for a moment. “Remember? You loved that woman’s pink hair. You saw her when we went to Skyward. You always loved pink hair.”

“It’s okay,” You shrugged. “I’ll keep it like this.” Your eyes were empty, and your face was exhausted.

“That’s great too! You have beautiful hair,” I told you, giving your hand a squeeze. You forced a quick smile. 

“Thank you,” You closed your eyes again, and I sat there, watching you drift off to sleep. I didn’t leave until your room was engulfed in darkness. I tucked you into bed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I love you,” I whispered. I shut the door quietly behind me. I felt helpless as I walked into my room. I wanted to give you everything, and I knew I couldn’t. 

I couldn’t take my eyes off of that photo. I knew you never reached 48 for the rollercoaster, and all of the empty promises I’d accidentally made to you shattered my heart. I always told you, “When you’re older, you can do that.” I wish I hadn’t made you wait. I told you to wait for a version of a future I later realized was never going to arrive. 

I close the book. I hold it close to my chest. I hear a small voice behind me. 

“Mommy?” Your brother asks. I quickly wipe the tears from my eyes and turn to him. 

“Hey sweetheart, whatcha doing?”

“I was making a fort, but Stellie ran through it.” He says defeatedly. The rambunctious puppy rushed in behind him. “Stella, we don’t knock forts over,” I scold her, running my hands through her fur as she sat beside me.

I look at the young boy. “Well, that’s okay. I can help you make a new one.”

“What are you doing?” He glances at the book. 

“I was looking at some old pictures,” I smile softly. 

“I wanna see,” he says. He sits next to me on the floor. I open the book, and his eyes bounce between each photo. 

“Sissy’s mad." He points to one of the photos. I look over at the picture, immediately recognizing it as First time eating asparagus. You had chucked them forcefully across the room as you screamed in protest. I had tried to calm you down, as your father tried capturing your new experience with his camera. 

I shake my head and laugh. “Yeah, she is. She didn’t like asparagus.” 

He scrunches his nose and sticks out his tongue. “Me neither.”

“Daddy doesn’t either. You two got that from him.” I wrapped my arm around him. 

We flipped through more of the pages. He always loves seeing new photos of you. Your brother pointed to that photo of you at the amusement park. 

“I want to ride that one,” he says, his finger gesturing to the rollercoaster that arches above your head. 

I smile at him and pull him closer. “We can do that,” I say softly. “We can ride the rollercoaster.”