What He Remembers

A little over a year ago Benji drank a bottle of cherry-flavored baby Tylenol (we don't know how much exactly) and almost died. We rushed him to the emergency room where he vomited for hours and they pumped him full of a special antidote that would keep his liver from shutting down.

It was terrifying. One of the worst experiences of my life, by far. I lay beside him and never left him and held him and consoled him as they poked and prodded and stuck needle after needle into his tiny, impossible to find veins as he screamed in terror.

It was a strain on our marriabe, and it almost broke my heart. The experience transformed me. I turned into a purely primal mama bear fighting with everyone as I tried to save my baby.

He was ok. Two days later we were home. He still hates baby tylenol.

We just wondered how much he would remember. It was traumatic for me. But what about for him?

Three days ago he pulled out is hospital doll. It was an ugly doll given by the social services people who roam the hospital looking for abuses. While they interrogated me, to try to determine whether I was an unfit mother, they gave him this little doll with blonde hair of yellow yarn.

He never plays with it. Ever. But every time I try to sneak it out to Goodwill he finds it and returns it to his room. So on this anniversary, or so, he pulled it out.

"This is my doll from the hosdebal (sic)," he said.

I asked him what he remembered, fearing the worst.

I remember all the stickers, he said, referring to the multiple IVS in his arm. I remember the thing here. He pointed to his wrist where they had an IV in his wrist. I remember I got to ride in a bed in an elevator, he said. I remember I was wearing pajamas the color of banana.

All this was true.

I remember Theo and Daddy brought me my favorite toys. Also true.

Do you remember why you were there? I asked. I drank all the medicine without Mommy, he said. I will never do it again.

Was it scary? I asked.

Yes, he said.

He never speaks of it. Unlike Theo, who has an uncanny recall of every event, Benji's memory seems more sporadic. But this he seemed to remember like it was yesterday. It scared me a little.

Don't worry, said Jonathan. This is his life. This is his story. This was one of his defining moments. He is never going to forget it.

I guess that is true. I wish it weren't. I wish it weren't one of his defining his moments, nor one of mine. But it was. And it does deserve to be remembered.

Every last detail.