Thursday, May 17, 2012
This photo of Henry is one of my favorites. No oxygen, no cannula hiding his face. He's so alert and focused. So healthy.
He's in his car seat, the Graco Snugride in neutral colors that I registered for. He's in his car seat ready to go. Truth be told, he didn't like the car seat much. He wailed on most car rides. He cried when we tried to take a walk with the car seat as part of a stroller. Here, though, he looks content, with a tease of a smile.
All three of my babies came home in that car seat. They went in it to visit family, take walks, go to appointments. The cried in it and slept in it and spit up in it.
Five minutes ago, a young women showed up at my doorstep looking for the car seat I had offered to Freecycle. I handed it to her with a smile, told her I was glad it would get another use, but as she walked down the steps and I watched the familiar green, blue, and tan plaid move away from me, this image of Henry grabbed me and I wanted to snatch it back.
I remind myself that there is now a little more room in the barn and the attic, that we won't have to pay to get rid of the car seat, that somebody else will extend it's life before it gets relegated to a landfill. It's not something I can hold tight, nor something I can save to pass on to my girls. It makes sense to let it go. Rationally, I know this, but still, sometimes I find myself wanting to hold on to the things he touched and used, as if by doing so I could better hold on to him.