So many things take on new meaning after a baby dies. The song ‘You Are my Sunshine,’ for instance, will never sound the same.
Tonight, E and I hauled some of her old baby toys out of the closet. We found a cloth book she used to love and began to read it…
Where is baby? I read, and we looked at each other.
Under this leaf?
Behind this cloud?
In my heart?
We looked at each other again.
Yes. Yes. Oh, yes.