Relics and Ruins

relic, n. Something that has survived the passage of time, especially an object or custom whose original culture has disappeared, for example:

• The safety gate around the fireplace, which I finally had to take down today because we have a small leak in the gas logs that needed to be repaired
• The car seat in the basement, which thankfully I removed from the car on the day of Hudson’s first memorial service because we needed the room; otherwise, it might still be there
• Latches that no longer serve any function on drawers and cabinet doors in the kitchen
• A bottle of Aveeno baby soap I can’t bring myself to remove from the shower caddy in our bathroom
• The positive pregnancy test from when we found out we were having Hudson, which I found recently in the top drawer of my jewelry box
• Hudson’s green shirt with three turtles down the front, which would have been a hand-me-down if Hudson ever had a sister, but which will now be packed carefully away in a box of things that can never be anyone’s but Hudson’s
• A copy of the invitation to Hudson’s first birthday party, still hanging on our refrigerator door
• Two sets of fingerpaint handprints, the first made at school in June 2009, when Hudson first started daycare, the second made in May 2010 at daycare as part of Hudson’s Mother’s Day gift for me, also the last art she ever made

ruins, n. The remains of something destroyed, disintegrated, or decayed, for example:

• Airports, which I used to adore, especially for all the exchanges of love during hellos and goodbyes, but which now I can barely walk through without tears
• The National Arboretum, a favorite and incredibly beautiful spot, but one where I have never been without Hudson
• Our driving route downtown, which passes right by Children’s Hospital where Hudson died
• The car, which feels totally empty without my girl in the backseat and her music in the air
• The Museum of Natural History, where Hudson could have spent every day, looking at and learning about all the different animals in the world, and making her trademark “RAWR!” when she saw the lions
• My glider, where I spent hours and hours with Hudson, nursing, reading stories, cutting her fingernails while watching cartoons (the only time she ever saw any TV), and, on her last day at home, where we sat for several hours, her asleep on my chest, her head on my shoulder, me thinking she was sleeping off a nasty bug

archeology, n. the study of past human societies

That is, the study of our life that no longer exists.