(Living kids mentioned)

We have a tree for you in the backyard.

Every night before they go to bed, we take your older brother and our rainbow daughter down to the end of the garden to say goodnight to it.

One day it will be huge and tall, and it will outlive all of us. Somehow that brings me comfort. One day something if you will outlast - even us.

Your older brother understands why we have the tree and that you are gone.

He draws you pictures and looks for rabbits at the cemetery when we go to visit. Sometimes he leaves you a toy car or a rock or stick he has found on his travels. He seems sure you would love the same things that he does.

When he was younger, before his rainbow sister arrived, he would ask why he never got to see you. And I explain that you had already died and we weren't sure if it was the right thing. I'm still not sure what was the right thing.

He likes to stare at your photograph and laugh that you had the same nose that he does.

Some nights he asks where you are now. And I say I'm not sure but that I feel you, so I think nearby somewhere, I feel you watching, I feel you in me too, connected, always on the edges just a moment over the horizon. Unreachable but near.

When we visit the cemetery, your little sister shouts "flower" and wants to climb the steps up to the lake near your grave by herself. She is oblivious to the layers of life and tears all around her.

Both of them run in opposite directions.

I try to steal a quiet moment to rearrange the flowers and weed the grass at the base of your plaque. I only get a few seconds to sit with the sliced up feelings, to kiss the bold metal letters of your name before I have to run after one of them.

Every day, I miss you. Every day I want you back. Every day I get up and get through and look after what I have to and I just travel around this loop of coping and aching and managing.

But every day I miss you. Xxx

anon,
this was very touching and I feel like I could have written a version of it myself.
I have two subsequent children that come with me to our cemetery spot,
and find it to be a very mixed convoluted bag of emotions.
I actually try to go alone because it helps me to stay focused on my babies that died.

I very much loved the last part of your post, which pretty much wraps up where I am in my grief process lately-
"I just travel around this loop of coping and aching and managing."

thanks for sharing this here. beautiful.

This is so beautiful. I am sorry for your loss...Much love and light