The Ache of Forgetting

 

This sweatshirt caught me off guard. I loved it instantly. First of all, it was green (her favorite color!) and had a frog (a favorite creature) with a sword, wearing a cape, and then, it was shouting "Huzzah!" But second, what undid me was what came after. Memory.

I had forgotten that Jess loved the word Huzzah. In the months before she died, she used it constantly, tossing it into texts, jokes, and silly conversations. I can hear her voice in it now, bright and full of mischief.

How could I have let that slip from memory? The truth is, grief plays strange tricks. It overloads the heart. There are too many memories to carry all at once, too much pain to hold them steady. Even the most precious things fall through the cracks. Forgetting doesn’t mean they weren’t important. It means there is simply too much to hold.

And then, something ordinary appears. A sweatshirt. A frog. A single word. Suddenly, the door opens, and the memory rushes back in. For a moment, Jess is right here again, laughing, alive in the details I thought I had lost.

Remembering this way hurts, but it also heals. The ache of forgetting is real, yet the joy of rediscovery is a gift. I don’t think I’ll ever see the word Huzzah again without hearing Jess’s voice echoing it back to me.