I'm sorting through clothes, sized 12 months to 18, wondering how parents ever deal with the loss of a child when I'm so deeply mourning the little girl who wore the handknit sweater?
Two years. My god - TWO YEARS. I was such an infant, a child. I had no sense. I'm astonished that we did so well. And each month I think "Thank god she's so great" Everyone says it goes by so quick, and I feel myself grasping at days, at moments, and turning them over in the sun, not wanting to forget them because quick doesn't even explain it. They say it gets tougher, and that you need to enjoy it now because they grow to hate you later - and I think "How sad" How sad one day that this little girl will grow up and forget that she was the very light of my life for hours, and hours at a time, each day, every day.
I cried when she saw Santa for the first time, I cried when she sat on the potty for the first time today and I'm crying now folding the itty bittiest sweaters that she used to wear so bravely. Egads, the courage to walk. She was so little. And getting so big.
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