What is your daughter's name?

I was playing with Mr. Wiggles at our local coffee shop. A woman came in with a gaggle of kids. The youngest, a girl of about four, went straight to the kids corner and started playing with us. It was neat to see her interact with Mr.Wiggles. She asked what his name is, and I told her. I asked what her name is, and she told me. Then she asked what my daughter's name is, and after a moment of brief hesitation, I told her. I've never met this girl before. I don't really tell young kids about Amelia, I just don't know how. But she didn't ask me IF I had a daughter, she asked me what her name IS. 

This is something most adults are so afraid of doing, yet this little girl made my day by asking. I have no idea why she asked, how did she know to ask, if there was something she knew, or if it was just something she asked without thinking. She told me she has a sister who is two and a half. Of course she does...

I don't know how the universe works, but today I'm both, laughing and crying. 

Conversation with a Big Sister.

I have a little buddy in our park, a little girl who recently became a big sister. Mr. Wiggles is just a few months older than her brother, so she is very interested in sharing and comparing...

Today we had an interesting conversation. It felt nice to talk to this little girl, as I felt somewhat closer to my own little girl... Yet it broke my heart as she told me how she doesn't get much sleep these days with her little brother crying every night. She told me how she picks the buggers out of his nose because her parents don't. She told me how she teaches him how to point at things, how to shake his booty. She shared her sisterly love, excitement, and responsibility for her little brother. 

My heart broke as I watched Mr. Wiggles and thought how he will never get that from his Big Sister. I know she watches over him and is always with us, but it's not the same... And I kept wanting to say that he also has a big sister. And I didn't know how to say that to a six-year old...  

Other Two-Year Olds. Alive or Dying.

I come across a lot of two-year olds. Maybe it's just that the age of two is more prominent in my mind, since Amelia would be almost two-and-a-half. Still, they are everywhere: at the playground, in a grocery store, and in the news.

The news... I just read a story about a boy, a few months older than Amelia, who is dying. Another girl Amelia's age recently succumbed to cancer. Other ones died in car crashes, accidents... FUCK!!!

I can't stand it. The realisation that these parents are joining me now in missing their kids, now two but next year three, then four, five and so on: It will never end. I can't stop it. My heart just breaks for them. My heart breaks for all of us. And as the years go by, there will be more and more of us in this club of parents missing their kids...

I used to be jealous of the people whose children got to live, even a little bit. They got so much more than I ever did with Amelia, just as I got so much more than those who lost their kids before full term... Still, I can't imagine what parents who lose their two-year olds go through.

The reality is scary, we have no control over our lives, and being a bereaved parent makes it impossible to pretend otherwise.

Sorry, no happy note to end this post today. Although as I'm sitting here, typing, a humming bird came by my window. I've never seen her come this late in the day (it's almost 8pm here), she usually comes in the mornings. So, I guess Amelia was here, with me, as I wrote this. And I love her.