Carl gripped the picture frame in his hands, knuckles stark white against the dark wood that enclosed the Grimes family photo. He knew without a doubt that today was Judith's sixth birthday. He'd been keeping track of the years since the day she'd been born in an old notebook he'd found in one of the guard towers. Sure, most of the pages had been ripped in half or had stale coffee spilled on them, but it had served his purpose well. Ever since that day – the day he tried so hard to put walls around so he would never have to revisit the pain that tightened his throat at the very thought of the memory – he'd been keeping meticulous track of the days. That was how he knew that it was Judith's birthday.
His deep desire to keep track of the days hadn't originally been in an effort to merely tell Judith that it was her birthday. It had been so he could remember that day. He really didn't understand exactly why he had decided to do it. He certainly didn't want to remember the events of that day – his father screaming at them in vain to run, T-Dog's shoulder being ripped open by one of the dead, his mama's death. Carl definitely didn't want to remember that. But unfortunately, he couldn't burn a hole in the spot of his brain where that painful memory was stored, no matter how hard he yearned to. Especially not when today was the anniversary of her death.
As soon as Maggie had pulled them into the abandoned room, he'd known something was dead wrong. His mama wasn't breathing right and her hand was clutching at the purple fabric of her shirt, directly in the spot where her swollen belly was. Maggie had tried so damn hard to help her deliver Judith the way her daddy had showed her, but something was horribly wrong. Blood was running down his mama's legs, her eyes were squeezed tightly shut in pain, and his head was screaming at him to run. To get out of there as fast as his legs would allow, to not care if a walker grabbed him and tore apart his flesh, because his stomach was telling him that this was wrong. But he stayed put and clenched his mama's hand in between his own and prayed to the God that he wasn't sure he still believed in not to take her from him yet.
But he knew the moment that Maggie's silver blade had pierced his mama's pale skin that she was gone. Tears began their descent down his cheeks at the sound of her screams as they echoed against the brick walls of the tomb. "STOP! YOU'RE KILLING HER!" he'd shouted at Maggie, but it was too late. As Judith's life filled the room his mama's had faded right in front of his eyes and there was nothing he could do about it. But he could stop her from turning. And if it was the last thing Carl ever did, he would make damn sure his beautiful, loving mama didn't turn into one of those flesh-eating things. So he had stood there in front of her, staring down at her broken and mangled body. Her stomach was slashed open, crimson blood pouring from the wound, skin drained of all color, chocolate brown eyes lifeless. He'd shot her straight in the forehead with the pistol his daddy had given him. Never had a gunshot sounded as loud and final as it had that day.
Carl stopped himself from dwelling on it anymore – the past was the past. He couldn't change what had happened that day. And if he was being completely honest with himself, he wouldn't. Because that day, his mama had sacrificed her life so that little Judith would have a chance in their world. Now he had a little sister to care for, to love, to fight for. And there was no way in hell his mama's death would be in vain.
He made his way through the cell block until he found the little cell Daryl and Carol now shared. Judith was sitting on the floor playing with three little toy cars Daryl had found on one of his runs into town at an abandoned daycare center. Daryl and Carol were sitting together on the small bed, legs crossed and staring at Judith as if she were the second-coming of Jesus Christ himself. Carl nodded at them both as he entered, taking up the only spot left in the tiny cell. He placed a hand on the bright red fire truck Judith was currently rolling around and pulled it away from her. She looked at him quizzically and said, "Why you take my truck Carl?" He pulled the picture frame out from where it was hidden in the waistband of his jeans and placed it on his knee so it rested between them.
Judith placed her tiny hands on the picture frame and stared. She pointed a chubby finger at the image of a much younger-looking and clean Rick Grimes and exclaimed, "It's daddy!" Carl chuckled and nodded. "Oh! And there's you Carl!" she said, pointing at an image of a ten-year old him. She finally came around to staring at the part of the picture that held Lori. She was beaming, sunrays seeming to emanate from her smile. Carl knew Judith didn't recognize her. "And that Judy, is your mama," Carl explained, his hand ghosting over the picture frame. "Ain't she the prettiest thing you've ever seen?" Judith placed her index finger and thumb around a brown curl that hung in between her eyes. "She has the same hair!" Judith shouted in awe. "Mama's got the same hair as me!" Tears burned at the back of Carl's eyes at the sight of his little sister but held them in.
He nodded. "Our mama was perfect," he said, taking Judith's tiny hand in his own. "On my eighth birthday I got the chicken pox. We had to cancel my party and everythin'. But mama, she still made me a cake. My favorite too – chocolate with vanilla frosting. She brought it up to my room and we ate it together right there on my bed, as many pieces as we wanted. I lost track after three." He smiled at the memory and looked up to see Carol staring at the siblings as they sat together on the dirty cell floor, tears streaming down her face. Daryl was holding her hand and doing his little half-smile thing, a proud glint in his eyes; he knew how hard this was for Carl to do; knew the pain it caused him. But Daryl knew Carl wanted to make sure his little sister had an idea of who their mama was. And Carl honestly didn't mine that they were audience to such intimate memories of his mama; they were family too.
Judith looked at Carl then, her brown eyes so much like their mama's. "How did mama die?" she whispered. Carl shook his head, afraid that this question would come up. He knew that eventually he would have to tell her, explain to her the circumstances of how she'd been born. But today, he only wanted her head to be filled with the good memories of his mama, the one's he fought to think about every day but today. "I'll tell you that story another time."
And even though she was a mere six years old, Judith seemed to understand. Her face was devoid of all innocence as a silent understanding passed between the two of just why she couldn't hear that story today. Carl picked up the picture frame and handed it to Judith. She stared at him questioningly. "This is your birthday present." He explained. "But…you don't want it?" Judith stared at the rectangular frame in her hand and ran her little fingers over it. Carl shook his head and took one of his sister's hands in his own, giving it a squeeze. "You need to remember her more than I do."