A few weeks before Eli died, we were at This is the Place for Eli’s leatherworking apprenticeship. While there, we decided to go to one of the gift shops. Eli chose to buy a geode. Later, when we were home, I helped him hit it with a hammer to expose the crystals inside. I really like geodes. I never know what beautiful colors and crystals will be exposed once they are opened. This particular one was white.

Grief has been described in different ways. One popular comparison is ocean waves. Another comparison I heard was that of carrying around a bag of rocks. For me, I think, the idea of carrying a bag of rocks most resonates. My grief is like carrying around a carefully crafted box of memories, each one is a precious geode, beautiful in its own way. As I continue to go about each day, something will spark a memory of Eli–maybe expected, maybe not.

For example, we took the kids to go see the new Spiderverse movie yesterday. We went to a different theater than usual and, as I went to buy tickets, I suddenly had a flashback of the last time I went there. I don’t remember exactly which day it was, but Eli was on hospice at the time and we had all gone to see a movie there and had to arrange for the hospice nurse to meet us there to do something with his pain pump. I just wasn’t expecting that particular memory geode to burst open right then.

It’s kind of like when Noah came to me a month or so ago and informed me that he was now five feet tall. It doesn’t help that Noah is the same age Eli was at the beginning of his last year of life, but that memory geode was full of all the times I was with Eli at the hospital and his height was being measured. That was the year he hit the 5 foot mark. These memories often catch me off guard, but each is a reminder that Eli exists.

I have related this story before, here it is again. One of the times I was with Eli at the hospital for chemo, or something, we were in an exam room waiting for the doctor. It was unpredictable how long our wait would be, since it tended to vary so much. That particular day we had been in the room for 45 minutes or longer when Eli asked me, “Do they even remember that I exist?” Eli, I remember that you exist, from beginning to end.