My computer is being repaired.  After realizing that the small crack that mysteriously popped up and that I ignored for several weeks was in fact causing problems like a non-working webcam, I decided to take it to get looked at.  The computer was under warranty and can be repaired, but it needs to be sent in and I will be without it for two weeks.

This is of course difficult since my days are spent with a laptop that I drag around with me everywhere.  I fairly easily figured out a solution with my tablet and a quick $30 purchase of a keyboard on Amazon.  It works, not ideally, and has some hiccups as change always does.  But, I find myself longing for the computer on a deeper level.

Yes, I am sure that this is partially because of our addiction to our devices and one that I am also privy to, but it's something more than that.  My computer reminds me of Colette.  I didn't have a laptop prior to being hospitalized, but knowing how many loose ends were at work, I needed to do some work from the hospital (and the doctors and nurses encouraged this so I would not lose my mind sitting in the room).  My amazing husband went running out and bought a laptop at Best Buy.  That laptop got me to feel like I could honestly leave and that nothing major was going to go wrong at work.  After I was released from the hospital and after Colette died, it took on another meaning.

When you lose a baby while pregnant, at birth, or within the first year, you do not have the same items and memories that you would with an adult.  You may have a few pictures if you're lucky, you may have a footprint or handprint mold, or maybe a piece of clothing, but otherwise you typically spend time in your head, hoping for any sort of memory to pop up and stay.  For us, we have more than most--we have a bunch of gorgeous photos done by Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, a handprint and footprint mold, a now framed piece of construction paper with Colette's name, a piece of home decor with the sound wave of Colette's heartbeat which her amazing aunt ordered, and her first diaper.  That and the memories we have of my pregnancy with her and her nine days of life are all we have.

So, the computer I have is just another thing that although not technically Colette's has come to symbolize Colette, to be a placeholder for what she meant to us in our life.  Bereaved parents are constantly looking for those small memories, treasures, moments to hold close to their hearts and sometimes material items that are seemingly unimportant get risen up to a much higher level than deserved because of that deep need and want.

In the meantime, I will hold my memories and the few items we have closer to my heart and hope that my computer returns home soon.