Our flight home today was cancelled and we’ll be here, with my inlaws, until Friday.

It’s ok. I have to cancel my class this week. And I will miss a meeting, or maybe two.

But it’s ok.

Except we will get home right before her days. The 12th, 13th, 14th. And I wish we could be home earlier. Because they don’t get it here. They just don’t. The people who get it: me, R, E, you. That’s it. That will always ever be it.

I wish we bathed her. I wish we dressed her. I wish we had more and better pictures. I wish E saw her, held her.

I am beset, suddenly, with regrets.

And I regret in advance, now, the haphazard way we will acknowledge her this year. Oh, Anja. I fail you and fail you and fail you again.

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