We miss our baby, so much.

We miss our Gwen so much - everyday. I think more everyday.

We were just getting to know you… to be with you… and we loved you since the moment we were expecting you… from that moment we laid eyes on you (how I remember that moment…). It's so hard to see you always not-here. Hard to love you this much, yet not be able to see you grow up. Hard to only have a handful of memories. Hard to wrestle down the memories of... the day you left.

Sometime this summer something reminded your daddy about how I sang to you...he recalled how I sang to you while I held you.... that day.... after it all happened. I don't remember that, but he does. I just wish you could have heard me singing.

And I just want to fix it all...have you back... and it's hard.

I will just walk forever, I my gardens then...because if we had a flower, for every-time we think of you...

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I took this picture of her tree today. It is the "background" of the collage above. Her tree is still green while all around many other trees are at peak. I enjoyed the contrast. The whole arboretum sparkled with Autumn today while the weather struck the perfect chord of warmth and chill. The wind blew enough to carry the leaves up and around the sky. They fluttered in the sunlight and seemed to be alive, enjoying their new-found freedom. The clouds were pure white and large, lumpy and confident even billowing yet never blocking the sun for too long.

I'm so glad we planted her tree there...it is so perfect.

However, I find myself so often facing the ultimate end of what it means to be conflicted. I mean, let's be honest. I kinda hate this tree. For what it stands for, in place of, instead of, the reason Why it grows there in this spot. It sickens me to go see her tree.

I love this little tree we planted. It's Gwen tree. But... it's Gwen tree.

sigh.

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Today is October 15th and that is significant - as Gwen is not alone. I am thinking of so many other  parents today...

God bless, to all those whom we walk along side with.

The Open Window

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The old house by the lindens
Stood silent in the shade,
And on the gravelled pathway
The light and shadow played.

I saw the nursery windows
Wide open to the air;
But the faces of the children,
They were no longer there...

They walked not under the lindens,
They played not in the hall;
But shadow, and silence, and sadness
Were hanging over all.

The birds sang in the branches,
With sweet, familiar tone;
But the voices of the children
Will be heard in dreams alone!

And the boy that walked beside me,
He could not understand
Why closer in mine, ah! closer,
I pressed his warm, soft hand!