Several months ago, I installed the Timehop app. For anyone in the dark, Timehop accesses any Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter posts for that specific date for as long as you have had an active account. So, when you pull up today's Timehop, you can see your various posts made on that date for as many years prior as your accounts go. I first noticed it last summer when people started posting them as Throw Back Thursdays. It was fun to see that little bar at the top "One year ago", "two years ago", "Six years ago". For most people, Timehop was a fun way to see what they were doing way back when, a nice bringer of memories. Almost like re-reading a daily online journal.
I installed Timehop for one reason and one reason only. I didn't really care what I was doing a few years ago. I didn't really need to have my pictures pinpointed as being taken and posted "three years ago". I didn't have to see what YouTube link I thought was hilarious on that specific day.
I wanted to see her.
I downloaded Timehop specifically so I could reread posts I made about Kenley's pregnancy. So I could see photos I shared of me pregnant. It was purposeful. It was calculated. I did it for her.
It's funny. So many people are often so afraid of talking about our children because they don't want to remind us about them. However, we often go out of our way to remind ourselves...as if we could actually forget anyway. When the initial shock of losing our child wears off, when the white hot pain dulls and the jagged edges of our hearts start to soften, we begin to realize how we are drifting further and further apart from them. When something so central to your being becomes a memory, you will do anything to keep that memory alive, even if those actions cause you pain.
Every day, I search for her on Timehop. From July to the end of February, I check daily in hopes of catching a glimpse of her in the midst of the trivial. (From March to June, she's sometimes still there, but she's already been made into a memory by then. She's not alive in those posts, and while they are still special, it's just not the same.) Yet, every day, I scroll over to that yellow little app and tap my finger with my heart in my throat. I hold my breath just a little during the two seconds it takes to load. Will she be there today? It's not unlike hoping to see that cute stranger in the coffee shop that seems to follow your morning commute. You never know. You hope. You wish. You dream. But, you very well might walk away empty handed. The screen flickers to the feed. Somedays, I see simply a photo of my cousin's wedding or a status about how much I hate Survivor. And, while those are fun, they aren't the reason I'm here. That happens on the days where I scroll through the feed and I see her, my little ninja. A funny status on how much I hate being pregnant. There you are! An update on a doctor's appointment. Hello, beautiful! A photo of my swollen belly. Jackpot!
February, however, plays a dangerous game with me because I know my posts with her alive are dwindling. I know there will come a day soon when I will check Timehop and it will be announcing her death. Still, I check. Still, I seek her out. Every. Single. Day. Because she is my baby. Because she should be turning two years old one week from today. Because she's not here - but she is, even just a little bit, there.
I take what I can get.