I remember you. The thought of you no longer makes me sad. Wistful at times, but not forlorn. And I just have to take time today to say it, not to be stuck in the past, or ungrateful for the children I do have, but because once upon a time, I dreamed of you. I longed to meet you and for three whole days, I thought you were mine. But you bloomed only to fade.
Eight years later, part of me still needs to justify feeling loss. Some accusing voice tells me I must take what he gives and give what he takes, without question. I try to ignore the voice, I know it is not truth. And it's not like I'm asking for things to change. I do accept his control, and I believe he knows what's best. I'm even glad? life worked out the way it did. Yet, I can't see that I will ever get to the day when I won't wonder about the alternate reality or some crazy way to live in both worlds – one with and one without – you.
The most sensible way to explain is this: If I believe in a God who numbers each of our earthly days, and I also believe day one is called conception, then the end of those days, no matter how few, is still an end. Still something to remember, so I do. There are no grooves to trace the date upon your floating headstone, no wild weeds for me to trim. But it's heft in my heart is heavier today, so the flowers must still be laid.
I hope you like the ones I picked. With love, your Mom.