Tattooed Memories

 Logan meets George Washington, Marching Thru History 2009 

Doing is life. Memories are associated with experiences-- therefore, the more experiences you have the more goes in your memory cache. For twelve years, I traveled to see Logan with a full itinerary to create memory opportunities. I had an agenda: make our time together meaningful and purposeful to keep me present in his life. Because of it, my own memories of the past sixteen years are filled primarily with what we did together.
If I didn't have all of these memories of Logan, I would have nothing to hold on to now. They remind me he was real and I feel linked to him because our experiences together are permanently etched on my heart, as the finality of death has a way of tricking you to feel your mind is confused about them having really been in your life.
I did things I would never have done if I were planning it for myself. It was important to always find new and enriching experiences for my time with my son. I created a booklet of sorts. It grew to ten pages of fun things for us to go do within a few hours of his home in California. It took a lot of time to build over the years but planning our fun was one of my favorite things. I didn't do it to be cool or a good parent-- I did it because he deserved no less from me than my best. But being a cool mom was definitely a fringe benefit.
Logan knew me in ways no else does because of the experiences we had together. I lost someone who really got me. As he grew older and expressed interest in different subjects or areas I added subjects and things he didn't like so much fell off the list. We had a similar list for his trips to Washington.
There were many times I was sad to take different activities off the list as they became too much for "kids" or something I had grown to love became not as exciting anymore for him. I was sad when he outgrew wanting to wade in streams and catch bugs and small animals to study. I was pretty heartbroken when he decided rockhounding was "a lot of work" when we could go buy the rocks or see them at a rock show. I laughed but felt bittersweet when he didn't want to go to historical museums as often because his know-it-all mom often knew more than the tour guide and he came to also know more than they did as well. I was genuinely disappointed when he didn't want to go ghost hunting every month- it was a time I had looked forward to that we spent together without any distractions from the outside world.
His dad said to Logan more than once (according to Logan) that he didn't know how I could have found so much for us to do. His friends thought I was the coolest mom ever when he went back an reported what he had gotten to do during his time with me. That admittedly made me inordinately happy- my love and dedication to Logan was being reflected to others by his sharing our fun with others. I felt more a part of his life that way. I was happy to be touching his heart.
I got a card in the mail from a friend I've had since I was 13 years old recently. She had been going on an extended work trip to Southern California a few years ago and stopped in Tacoma on her way down from Alaska. I gave her a copy of my precious list to give her stuff to do there off the beaten path. She had recently re-found the list and cared enough to let me know that what I had done for my son MATTERED. I cried for hours when I read the card and in each tear was a precious memory of my son from that list. Her card reminded me of how valuable my memories are in providing a connection to my son.
I tried so hard to show Logan love and how deep my commitment was to his well-being. When he ended his own life, I had an identity crisis on several levels. One of the hardest continuing conflicts is the nagging feeling that all of the good experiences I gave him weren't enough to let him see how much life is worth living for the adventure it offers. I gave Logan my best self and it is so hard to not feel that my best wasn't good enough to save him.
I miss our memory-making opportunities. We had hundreds of wonderful times together; our goal was to do at least one new thing from the list every single visit. I have a hard time pulling myself to do new things because I don't have him to plan them for. Guilt is a constant companion; I have new life experiences and he never will. I have gotten past the feeling I am outright betraying his memory by making new memories, but I resent getting there. I resent making a new life for myself and feel so much bitterness towards what I know has to happen as time marches relentlessly on.
I haven't looked at the list since he died. It sits in a purple folder that used to go in my carryon with every trip. At some point, I will go through it and I hope I can focus on the things we DID on the list and not all of the things that remained to be saved for "another trip."
This summer was supposed to be the year we took him to Painted Hills in Oregon and to see Henry the Bear in Mitchell. I am punished with thoughts of things we had yet to do all of the time and don't see that changing.The "somedays" that will never be are one of the hardest things to accept.