Yes, I am behind again…
Writing 101, Day Fifteen: Your Voice Will Find You – write about something you’ve lost…
I wonder what you would be like today. Would your hair be long, red and curly or would it be dark like your brothers? Would you like the same things as your brothers and be a “tomboy”. You probably would, you’d have to be to defend yourself with those rough guys. Your big brother would be protective, I know that as would your daddy. Many times I have longed to be able to hold you and love you. I know you are perfect where you are today and not in this cruel world. Your little brother says he seen you and played with you, I am sure you are there looking over them as a guardian angel. Your sweet life on this earth was so short and you are so missed by many. Your little baby brother says we have to get Sissy out of her car seat at Nona’s. I wonder does he really see you as you were or is the seeing the future. I would love to hold you again and look into your big blue eyes one more time but I know that is not possible. You would have been 19 this year and I am sure gone off to college or to live your life. Know my sweet girl that you are so loved and missed. My little angel Megan.
My granddaughter was diagnosed with Edward’s Syndrome when she was born 19 years ago, she only lived for 36 hours but made such a profound impression on all our lives. I know others out there have lost children and/or grandchildren, you never forget but somehow you learn to deal with it. Sometimes you cry, sometimes you laugh, sometimes you just think and sometimes – with me when I write it helps. I usually don’t post much about it though.
Dreams come to me like
silent movies on a
The lights fade
the faces appear before me
You say don’t worry
we’ll look after her
She’s so tiny
An angel and perfect in every way
You know we only had her
for a few short hours
before she went on to join you
But the memory of her face
is still so fresh in our hearts
I see her now by your side
stars reflecting in her blue eyes
a smile on her lips as she takes your hand
and slowly fades from my sight.
In memory of my granddaughter Megan Danielle April 10, 1995-April 11, 1995
© April 1995