I’m trying to keep my daughter’s memory alive in our new home

Within days of my daughter Austen’s accident last summer, I began to think I’d never be able to live in our old house again. A week or so after she died, I went back, just to make sure. Even though I felt at peace on the property, my feelings were confirmed.

It wasn’t that I didn’t have happy memories there; they were all around me. I thought about Austen, who had Dravet syndrome, playing with the dogs in the backyard and with her siblings on the trampoline, and examining the strawberry patch for the thousandth time to see if a berry had popped up yet for her to devour.

But no matter how many happy memories I accumulated in that house, I couldn’t convince myself that they’d ever outweigh the one horrible memory that would always stain it for me. Even if I tried to keep my eyes trained anywhere but there, I knew they would always drift back to the spot where I gave her CPR. Or where the ambulance parked. Or where the helicopter landed.

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Luckily, I have an amazing husband. When I told him I wouldn’t be able to handle living in that home again, he didn’t bat an eye. He quickly found us a house closer to our families that we could rent, and he worked with other family members to pack up most of our belongings so that I wouldn’t have to return more than a couple times.

Within a month, we were out of the hotel we’d been staying in and living in our new house — one we could fill with happy memories as we tried to chug along with our lives. I say chug along, because moving forward sounds like I want to forget about Austen, and I don’t. But in our new house, we could focus on the happy memories, instead of constantly being slapped in the face by the bad ones.

Austen is with us, always

As excited as I was to move into our new home, I hadn’t anticipated how gutted I would feel when we finally settled in. I found myself walking from room to room, realizing that Austen would never step foot here. Its rooms would never echo with her laughter, its floors would never be soaked with water from her L.O.L. Surprise! dolls, and I’d never have to peel Play-Doh from its carpets or scrub her bath crayons from its shower.

At one point, when I was home alone unpacking, I just sat down on the living room floor and cried, screaming to God that I’d give anything just to clean up one more mess, or calm one more tantrum.

But even though Austen has never physically been inside our new home, I feel her there constantly. A family friend took my grandfather’s old trunk from his days in the Navy and carved Austen’s name on the side in purple and pink letters — her favorite colors. It’s displayed proudly in our living room, with many of Austen’s favorite things tucked carefully inside. We’ve placed a big picture of her in a frame my other grandfather made, and soon it will hang above her piano in our living room — a way for us to look at her each day.

In the backyard, there are two hibiscus trees; one sprouts pink flowers and the other, purple. Those were some of the first things we saw when we looked at the house — a sign from Austen that this was our new home and she was here with us.

Austen will stay with us, in memory and spirit, wherever we go. It doesn’t matter if it’s this house or another. In the end, we’re the ones who carry her from place to place, tucked inside our memories and forever in our hearts.

Note: Dravet Syndrome News is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Dravet Syndrome News or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to Dravet syndrome.

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