Today was E’s kindergarten orientation. She starts full-day school in September, my big-little girl. I wrote a long post about how it felt to walk through the school, which looks and smells just like all the schools I ever attended, to imagine my little E starting her school years, experiencing all the excitement and heartache of new friendships, of gaining independence, of still being so small in a big-seeming place, but wordpress crashed on my phone and it’s gone and I’m typing one handed and there’s no time to start over. But, oh, my heart could burst thinking of my little girl, still my little baby, moving further and further out into the wider world beyond our family. And then it breaks, too, over the other baby girl who will never make this move, never run around at recess in a giant game of tag or sit in quiet secret congress with a best friend. And then it twists itself up over the riddle of the boy who will go to kindergarten because she won’t. We will miss kindergarten orientation in 2017, but we will be there in 2018, and it is all just so…unresolvable.

I love them all so much, my three babies.

I could almost see A there today, at the school, in one of the small groups of kids huddled under the roofed part of the yard, out of the rain. I could imagine an alternate world where she goes to kindergarten, too, where E comes to her classroom door to fetch her at the end of the day, sisters holding hands on the walk home.

Lately, I have found myself imagining a variety of these alternate worlds, worlds where dead babies aren’t dead, where they play together, dance together, where they are. Last weekend I watched a large group of preschool-aged children chasing each other across a grassy field, and I saw them all, our babies, grown a bit and playing together, laughing in the sun. It was a lovely daydream and it made me smile.