I hold on to so many things. I hold on to grief. I hold on to memories. I hold on to love.
I hold on to mementos like these dried sea shells. My cousin’s wife placed them in my hand the month after Adrian died, a symbol of myself and my son. I took this photo that afternoon, so worried they’d be damaged on the plane home.
I hold on, afraid of losing, afraid of letting go.
I lost my phone last month. The movers lost five pieces of furniture. Two months prior, I broke one of these shells.
I have trouble replacing things. I consider everything irreplaceable.
When I lost my phone, I cried. I cried over carelessness. I cried over lost photos. I cried that I had allowed another loss into my life. I cried for being helpless, and sad, and afraid.
When I broke my shell, I shrugged. It was the mama shell. It mirrored me.
This is one of the last photos left from before I started this account. This was one of the few I uploaded to the cloud. My new phone is on auto-backup now. Sometimes I learn.
I am thankful for memories, and kind people, and broken shells. I am thankful that I still hold on. I am thankful for things worth holding on to.
I am thankful for my son.