Because I touched your skin, my hands are holy...

Tuesday, April 09, 2013

It's late.

I think of your small face, held in my hands. I touched your skin, and it makes my skin seem holy somehow. That close to heaven, I was- it's still unbelievable.

When I close my eyes I can still hear that heartbeat sound, and I can still feel the tension in the air and all I want, when I close my eyes, is to imagine being with you again.

I want two girls, because I am greedy. I want you holding hands in matching sister sister headbands, with your old time names and your hair in pigtails.

Her hair is red, this tiny sister of yours.

Oh, how I hoped that it would not be.

Every day, I realize that she looks just like you did- when your face was animated with life. Her mouth and chin are shaped the same, because you both look like dad. It used to hurt to see his face at a certain angle because it reminded me of what I could no longer see. Now, I spend hours gazing into her face, and it's not yours, so it's o.k.

I wish that you were here. I wish that this thing wasn't always sitting in the back of my head, ripe for emotion and ripe for tears.

I wish, at this point, to have a dream of you- I just want to be able to imagine holding you safely- just one time. I would like to hear your lispy toddler voice. You would be almost two and a half. I have missed that.

Two and a half years and I think of you every day.

I went into your box the other day.

I pulled out the small pajamas and crushed them into my face- the delicious smell of you filled me for a sharp moment in time. I remembered, then.

You are so close to my heart tonight.

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