by Eileen

When children die, it's always before their time. Three is still very small; there are developmental milestones she'll never reach like catching a gently tossed ball, understanding the concepts of "same" and "different" and the realization of self as a whole person involving mind, body and soul.

And she is whole. Sickness has not taken the glass-brittle fingers from her hands, her hands from her arms or her arms from her torso, which is cold and naked as they wash it, preparing the little girl whose name began with an L for a hasty burial.

Her sister will not remember.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License