Weather pattern

I was recently asked if I could describe my grief as a weather pattern what would it be.  The idea gave me pause and a good inner chuckle.  I considered my answer while a myriad of thoughts was flooding my mind. 

 Maybe a tsunami?  Does that count as a weather pattern?  I don't think so. Maybe those times that low- and high-pressure systems come together? A thunderstorm with atrocious thunder and lightning, but then all of a sudden it is over?  A sun shower on an otherwise beautiful day? A lightning storm? An Arizona Monsoon, where it comes in quickly and leaves just as fast?  How do I answer this question? 

 I began to speak but as I always feel when it comes to trying to put my grief into words, I stumbled over my words.  I feel like I am in a state of confusion. I feel like my weather pattern is all over the place, but the trickiest part is that I am not even aware of what it may be or could be until it is actually happening.  I feel lost in a horrible storm and wish someone would join me in it, but I want to be in the storm by myself, so I don't really want anyone around.  I want to ignore the way the rain comes out of nowhere and how loud the thunder is and how scary the lightning is. I wish I could have a personal meteorologist, someone to give me some warning over what potentially could be on the horizon and how long it may last.  Maybe then I could give warnings to others so they would know the right thing to do.  

 The truth is unless you truly live with the grief of losing a child it is hard to conceptualize the complexity of the inner turmoil.  The panic of the world forgetting your child, the guilt over not wanting to think about your child, the fear over someone overstepping but the sadness of them not taking any steps at all or not enough.  For me personally, the weather pattern is not quite known, but one thing is for certain, it is always, always, unpredictable. 

85 weeks

Dear Sonzee, 

Today marks 85 weeks.  I feel like it is one of those numbers that should earn me a medal of some sort.  How this many weeks has gone by is so baffling. My brain cannot even compute what you might have been up to all of this time.  What I would give to not have to imagine but to be able to truly know.  I am slowly clawing my way out of the deeper folds of grief I have come to find myself in.  It is a slow process and I had my turn of experiencing that these cycles of grief are sporadic, disorderly, unpredictable, and yet extremely repetative.  It all sucks.

This week I was asked on two different occasions how many children I have.  The first time I responded that it dependended on  what context the question was being asked, it was clarified to mean "live births", so that allowed my answer to include you.  The second time I did my typical stutter, and then said well, I had 5, I now physically have 4, but I had a daughter who died.  The person then clarified and said, "so you have 5". Then we spent 30 minutes talking about you but how life has changed since you left us.  The person mentioned how incredible I was for being able to talk about you.  Truth is she just caught me in a "good moment".  I do have those times where I can talk about you and not even flinch.  Those moments confuse me, but I am grateful for them.

On Thursday we had Yom Kippur.  The Yarhtzeit candle holder and red memorial lights I had purchased for you are packed away in storage so I ended up buying a 50 hour candle that had a quote on the jar about missing you and it smelled really pretty.  I bought two, with two different fragrances. They might be my new go to.  I didn't go to shul for Yizkor, I am happy I completed the fast, but I did feel really guilty I didn't get to go.  I know I have another chance over Sukkot.

We moved to a new rental.  We have this one currently for 6 weeks, but we are hoping to be able to extend it so we don't have to keep moving.  We learned it will be 6 months before the house is ready.  That gives us time to really figure out what your message is to us.  But, really we cannot keep moving.  Your siblings have been amazing, but it breaks my heart when I think about the chaos and heartache they have experienced for the last close to 2 years.  They need some stability and for things in their lives to just level out.  They have all at different times asked why bad things keep happening.  I try to reframe it to be that they aren't exactly all bad things, but if I am fair, in their eyes, nothing has been overly positive.  They are honestly doing incredible, but I can see where they each are cracking a bit and I am trying to help keep them together.

I still have not been to your grave.  I am sorry.  Someone told me I will get through this part and be back to it soon, it is just part of the process.  I am waiting for it.  I know I am slowly getting there because I have thoughts in my mind where I consider going vs not even entertaining the idea.  I just wish this would get easier...but I know that won't ever be the case.  Maybe if I knew you were able to be the you that you weren't able to be here with us, then it would be enough? 

Anyway baby girl. Please stay safe and healthy.  Please visit us. Keep sending your signs.  You are missed and loved!!

Until next time.

Love always, 

Ema

84 weeks

Dear Sonzee, 

The clock keeps ticking, the days keep passing, I find myself 1/2 way through September and 84 weeks away from life with you.  I still don't really understand how life continues, and despite how complicated a simple 3-word phrase really is, it just does. This "life after Sonzee" is unreal at times, confusing, and really hard for my brain to process at times.  

We spent our 2nd Rosh Hashana without you.  I wrangled your siblings together for a picture, but I hardly even wanted to do that, I just knew I should.  This Hebrew year we will be celebrating Laeya's Bat-Mitzvah.  I cannot believe she will be 12.  I cannot believe you would be turning 7 just a few weeks later.  Instead 5 days after we celebrate her milestone, we will be honoring the second anniversary on the Hebrew calendar of your death.  

Noam woke up sick Saturday morning.  My immediate thought was one of panic, and then within 3 seconds I realized, rather, I reminded myself you aren't here so I have no reason to worry.  He will be over it quickly and even if your siblings caught it, it's essentially nothing.  He was over it within 24 hours, and I have no you to worry about, so life will just continue and it will take me longer to get over the panic it momentarily brought into my mind.  The ease of these parts of life breaks my heart, the PTSD from life with you is permanent, and so it will be days before my fight or flight response settles and the anxiety of the mini panic subsides.  The grief of not having you just adds another level of heaviness to it all.

We booked tickets for Tzvi's hockey tournament coming up in Chicago.  Another reminder of how our life is so very different.  There was no call to Ryan House, no checking with nurse Paige's schedule, no feelings of potential guilt over us debating if we would take you with us.  It was as simple as picking a flight and me requesting the days off from work.  The guilt of life without you is extremely heavy.  It counteracts all the smiles.  

We received the lists from the company dealing with the house and water damage.  They labeled items "total loss" and had pictures.  I found myself crying in a parking lot over your clothing wardrobe.  I don't understand why that had to be damaged.  We had recently moved it out of the playroom and into Laeya's room so she could have a piece of you.  It's gone.  It was listed under "total loss", but we asked them to save it and I am not understanding why it wasn't.  Box 121 included items from Noam's closet, including your last package of diapers.  It was listed as "total loss".  It shouldn't have been.  They never were wet.  They were high on a shelf.  They have no monetary value, I want the package of diapers back.  Your bedroom doors were taken down, I have never erased them.  They have all of your last medication times and amounts written with nurse Paige's, Auntie A's, and my handwriting.  Your last doctor appointments are still there.  The doors were in the pile of "total loss".  Part of me wants them to be taken away like your bed, without me being aware, without me knowing.  The other part wants to cling onto them for dear life because it's all I have left of life with you.  

I feel like all of this entails some messages from you.  I am trying to figure out what specifically they are.  I am gathering it has to do with forcing myself to deal with your absence.  I also think it is you trying to tell us we have to move forward.  Both of those things I do understand are necessary, at least logic-brain says so, but grief brain, not so much.

Anyway, little girl.  I miss you beyond words.  I hope you are doing well. I hope you know how loved and missed you are.

Stay safe. Be healthy. 

Until next time.

Love always, 

Ema

83 weeks and 2 days

Dear Sonzee, 

I really do not understand how these weeks continue to fly by.  Between work and activities with your siblings, I can hardly remember much of the specifics.  Tzvi had his first scrimmage last Tuesday and then had his pre-season seeding tournament.  I wore my new purple glitter boots and my new Hockey mom sweatshirt.  His team had 2 wins and 2 losses over the weekend which isn't a bad way to go into the season. I am going to need to ask you to please spread your juju to him and help him with his shots.  He just needs a confidence boost and then he will be good to go.

Meena went back to gymnastics last week and after a day got moved up a level.  She is slated to compete in a year, which gives me ample time to try and figure out how to balance competitive hockey and gymnastics along with whatever Noam and Laeya are doing.  I swear I need to clone myself.

Work is a bit of a juggle lately since I changed my status from part-time to full-time. I was finally getting into a rhythm and then the holidays appeared, so now I just feel a bit overwhelmed trying to make sure I stay on top of everything and get everything done on time.  October will be a breath of fresh air when it finally arrives. 

Last Friday pop-pop gave us a bit of a scare but thankfully has recovered.  We spent another Shabbat spread all over Phoenix and it is feeling a bit insane not being together and having to always find a place for us all.  Everyone is being so amazing with housing your siblings as well as us, but it would be nice if could find a more semi-permanent solution instead of being nomads.  I will save my update on the house and Rosh Hashana for next week since this theoretically shouldn't include anything since Monday.

Anyway, little girl.  We miss you.  We love you. 

Stay safe. Be healthy. Have fun.

Until next time.

Love always, 

Ema

1 year 7 months

Dear Sonzee, 

Another month has come and gone.  This one, not one of the easier ones for sure.  I am sorry I haven't been able to visit your grave.  I will go today though to bring your new rock.  I have so many I need to make for all of the upcoming holidays, and obviously, one to represent the flood of the house.  The house alone has really tipped my scale of coping with you being gone.  Aba warned me about going into the house the other day, I wasn't planning on going, I didn't end up going.  I really do not think I will be able to ever walk by your room again.  I keep saying that I know you are not there and that all your stuff is with us, but it is just so hard.  Even if they replace the walls, it won't ever be the same.  We won't ever have your bed in there, we won't ever have that uncomfortable red chair in there, and you won't ever be there.

You haven't been there now for 19 entire months.  I realized this month that had we never had Noam, Meena would have lost her title of big sister.  Obviously, she would have always been your big sister, but she wouldn't be an "active" big sister,  She would have become the youngest, the entire order of the house would have shifted.  Another concept I am going to have to prepare for because time continues to fly by at record speed and before I know it, I will be staring at my screen and writing to you on the day that Noam turns 4 and then a year later when he outnumbers your days here with us.  In just 2 months and 25 days, he will also be 4.  I really do not know how I will be able to process that since you will forever remain 4 years old to me.  The thought of your younger brother turning your age and then aging you makes this even worse.  It is just another horror of life after burying you.

Noam asked (again) where you were.  I reminded him you were buried in the ground.  He gave me a chuckle as we drove to school and he said, "Ema, you are driving over Sonzee".  I reminded him that you were safe in a grave next to the street and in a place, no one could drive over.  His journey with your absence is fascinating to me because of his age and comprehension of the concept of your absence.  I know he misses you a lot.

This month brought me more tears than I think I have cried over the last 19 months.  I feel like this month brought me back to square one of my grief and if it is even possible into a darker part that I never experienced.  It has definitely been the most challenging.  That is the worst part of grief.  Thinking it can't get worse and realizing how false that statement is.  Similar to life with CDKL5. It can get worse, it does get worse, and it will get worse.  I am still waiting for it to all become more manageable. I suppose I will even continue to hope that it is still possible.  Until then I will just be thankful you left me in the hands of some amazing supports.  

Anyway baby girl.  19 months of missing your sassy smirks and beautiful blue eyes.  19 months of missing your snuggles and your curly hair.  19 months of missing seeing you in your Rifton chair by the big window as I drove away or came home.  19 months of missing your nurses and all of your equipment in the house.  19 months of not accessing your port or hooking you up to your TPN/Lipids.  19 months of no feeding tube changes, doctor appointments, and dropping you off at school.  19 months of incomplete family photos and missing your presence in our home.  19 months and counting of missing you forever.

We love you Sonzee bear!

Stay well, stay healthy, and stay safe.

Be free.

Until

next time.

Love always,

Ema

82 weeks

Dear Sonzee, 

Another week has gone by, making it 82 weeks.  I feel like maybe things are calming down?  Or maybe it is just that things do not feel so chaotic and my post to you is on time so it feels like I am back on track?  Who knows?  

We spent our first full week in our temporary home.  It really is a beautiful space, but knowing we will be moving again within the next month feels exhausting, especially with all of the holidays coming up. I didn't get a chance to intercept the yahrtzeit candle holder before they packed my desk area, but Mrs. Zupnick picked up a beautiful one over the summer for us so I at least have that as a stand-in.  I went back to the house two times over the week and each time my eyes just filled with tears.  The boxes that had been packed were taken away, the damaged furniture is gone, the house is almost just floors and walls.  12.5 years of construction projects and making the home ours, essentially gone.  I walked to your room, but it was just so hard to go inside, I took a quick picture of it amidst the chaos.  Aba ended up taking down everything off the walls yesterday, he said it was therapeutic, but to me, it seems similar to picking out your gravesite, something I was just incapable of doing.  I know you aren't in the room anymore, but it's where all of our memories are of you...something we can't ever do again.  

I initially thought I would go and sit on the floor of your room after everything was gone and have a good cry, but as I consider it more, maybe it is just best if I never walk into that space again.  I won't know if I will regret that decision until it is too late, but if I use the motto I did throughout your life...and death process, I will just make the best decision I can at the time with the information I have and be confident in it regardless of the outcome.  At this point, my gut says I shouldn't see your bed and chair be removed nor should I see the space without either of those things present.  I picked you up out of that bed and carried you out, I can't go through it (again) with the last places you physically ever were. 

We finally got up to Bear Pines this weekend.  It was amazing to be back there.  It's only been ours for a little over a year, but it's familiar and a constant in this chaos right now.  We laugh as Noam now names the houses, "New York house", "Dallas house" (The Howard's), "Flagstaff home", "Phoenix home", and this one hasn't been named just yet.  He makes us sound like we are super-rich people...Poor guy has been through so much in his 3.75 years.

We went to a butterfly release yesterday.  I am trying to be more open to signs, so much so I have purchased a ton of books about being open to them.  It just feels crazy sometimes to attribute things as a sing, because of course there could be another reason why something happens.  We were given a butterfly to release specifically in honor of you and then they released a final butterfly for all children who had died, and it flew right into Meena's hair.  Then he/she was held by Laeya and then every time we tried to release him/her, she/he flew back to me or back to Laeya or Meena.  It literally walked around on us until it was time to leave and Laeya placed it on a leaf.  I could say maybe there was something wrong with it and it couldn't really fly away, or I could be open to the fact that maybe it was a message from you. There are so many sayings related to butterflies and death, that if I allow myself to be open to it, while maybe it was a coincidence of the situation, it very well could also have been you sending me a message that no matter where we will be, you are always with us.  I mean, this butterfly could have flown into anyone's hair and hung out with any of the other families, but it came directly to Meena, and we once had a grief activity where we wrote down something we wish could tell you and Meena mentioned she would tell you that she saw the butterfly.  I didn't know anything about you two and butterflies but putting it all together makes more of a sign than a coincidence.  Thank you. 

Anyway baby girl.  I will let you go.  Please stay safe and healthy.  Your brother has his first scrimmage this week and a tournament this coming weekend...please come if you can.

We love and miss you!

Until next time.

Love always, 

Ema

81 weeks and 1 day

Dear Sonzee, 

I feel like this was one of those "longest weeks ever" types of weeks.  It took us close to the entire time to find a rental for the month and we are debating what we are going to do after this month is up.  We found out the damage is pretty rough, which we knew, but now we know more.  My, well, really it turns out it was aba's too, so our worst fears came to fruition and we have to remove the furniture in your room. Your bed, the bookshelf with all of your stuff, that horrible Ikea chair that I absolutely hate and didn't understand how your nurses never complained, the walls...they all have to go.  It is a lot to process, more than aba and I really can, so we continue to push it off. I am sure in next week's letter I will tell you how having everything taken out was a close to second to the day I had to walk you out of the house to never return.  The fact that the last place you ever laid and the only room you ever knew will be gone along with you, is really honestly way too much for us.  It is bringing a lot of serious conversations to the table (that we were avoiding).  My logical brain says it makes zero sense to replace your bed or replicate your room, you aren't here to use any of it and what is the point.  The emotional part of me says to keep it all despite the damage.  The logic will win, but the emotional is not going to recover.

We spent the weekend out of the house and it was nice to escape the noise of the fans and the chaos of the house.  I have your clothing in a box now, so maybe I will reach out to those who I have been in contact with to make quilts.  We have one, it is absolutely amazing, but now I want every article of your clothing made into a quilt for your siblings as well.  Truthfully I can't really look at the first one that was made because it makes me cry, but one day I know I will, and it has set the bar really high for the next quilter.

Tzvi had his team hockey party Sunday, I am really excited over the new colors! You would have looked adorable in all the purple, silver, and black.  I have my boots ready to go and new sweatshirts on the way!  I am really excited for him and all that he has in store this year for his hockey growth, make sure you pop into a game or two or send some of that awesome juju!

Anyway my love.  I miss you a ton and am starting to be more mindful of the signs you are sending me. They may not be what I want per se, but I am starting to acknowledge they might actually be from you, it is just tough.  

Stay safe and healthy and have fun!

(oh, and ps: make sure you tell uncle happy birthday!)

Until next time.

Love always, 

Ema

80 weeks and 1 day

Dear Sonzee, 

80 weeks...and one day, my eyes squint as I wonder how; my heart hurts as I dare to wonder why.  These last 6 days have felt like they have been an eternity themselves, sometimes I wonder what role if any you are having in all of it, I struggle to figure out if and what you are trying to communicate, much like during your life.  Last Thursday night Meena, Laeya, and I returned to our grief groups.  I really missed mine.  I am one of the furthest along in terms of physical distance from the death date, but in terms of the journey, at this point, I feel like I won't ever be graduating.  According to all of the books I have read there will be a day that I will look back and tell the 'me of now' that one day I will learn how to continue to move forward.  I will keep waiting for that day.   

We were supposed to go to Bear Pines last weekend, but when Friday rolled around my energy levels and ability to cope with grief and life were impossible.  We did a quick family vote and 4:2 meant we stayed in Phoenix.  Ema has flown off her rocker completely and Meena and Noam now have their own baby kitties, Bella Nicki and Bailey Nina.  They were temporarily being housed in your room while everyone adjusted, so I cleaned up your room by putting away all of the clothing for your potential clothing quilts and moving your car and stroller out of your room.  We woke up Shabbas morning to the entire house being flooded.  Aba and I are more annoyed at the inconvenience because after burying you, very little can actually be worse.  My tears were of the thought of what will happen to your room when they do the official moisture checks. What about your bed?  What else of you are we going to lose?  Luckily all of your important items were away.  Aba found a handprint father's day gift from you in a bag, but thankfully your handprints are still intact and just the year and one word were blurred.  The cabinet was soaked so your blankets on the bottom shelf were wet, but they were cleaned and dried by Saturday night. The hardest loss currently is your hospital bag that I have never unpacked from the last time you were in-patient.  I started to unpack it when I realized aba hung it up on my closet door not wanting to tell me, but knowing I would realize on my own when I saw it.  I saw my hospital socks, a pair of leggings, and a shirt before I completely lost it and decided I can't unpack it, not yet.  I won't ever repack it again so I can't unpack it.  For now, it remains on the hook until I don't know when?  

Aba initially said this flood is an omen and it is time for us to move.  I told him I can't and won't leave you so we aren't going anywhere.  I am left wondering if this was a message from you telling us that we need to "start over", and that we need to move forward?  I know you would totally be on my side for renovating the house, but honestly, my energy level and ability to take on this type of project right now is similar to your bone density level...in the negative range.  Maybe that is why it is happening though? Maybe it's to keep me busy so I keep pushing on? Just another thing to do to keep my mind busy and not fall deeper into this grief pit?  Not sure it is really going to be helpful?  I am torn on if this means we should repurpose your room, nothing feels right, I am so utterly confused.

How have you been doing? I haven't asked how you are doing or what you are up to. Do you have nice friends? Do you get to see saba? What do you do every day? Is someone taking care of you? Are you scared? Do you feel safe? If you can somehow answer anything, just let me know if you are truly doing ok.

Anyway my love.

Be safe. Know how much you are loved and missed!

Until next time. 

Love always, 

Ema

79 weeks and 2 days

Dear Sonzee, 

I am so sorry I have fallen behind on my weekly posts and posting picture throwbacks of you.  I don't want to burden your peaceful soul, but ema is really struggling lately.  I was talking to Mimi's mom today and admitted that New York sent me "backward" on this crummy grief journey.  I say backward, but really it is more that I am cycling back into the whole denial concept of you actually being dead, which I think happened because I wasn't visiting your grave as much.  Now everything is significantly harder to deal with.  I have your soapstone butterfly to honor another 6 months of you not being here and I can't even bring myself to go to your grave.  It breaks my heart on so many accounts. I am so sorry. The same has occurred with posting those throwback pictures of you each day.  I used to look forward to doing them, but now all I see when I open google photos and type in the date is there are 2 years without pictures of you on that day and I can't bring myself to scroll down to the years you were actually here.  

This last week we were visiting Harper's family in Dallas.  It is always comforting to be around them, I am sure you remember how amazing they all are. We went back to Six Flags this year, it was another first time without you sort of deal.  I keep managing to survive these first times.  Overall it was as good of a day as can happen in ridiculously hot temperatures in an outdoor park with your siblings.  It felt like one of those movies where my mind flashed back to where we stopped, adjusted your fan, and made sure you stayed cool or sat out of the rides.  I was almost relieved that Noam was too short because he was the perfect excuse to not go any of the roller coasters, but that used to be your job.

After driving back the 15 hours straight on Monday I went to work on Tuesday.  It keeps ringing in my mind that I don't know what school you would have been in so I don't know what to put on your "first-grade" rock.  It also doesn't compute in my mind that you would be going into first grade?  It doesn't make sense, you never even started Kindergarten, you never graduated from preschool.  My mind can't handle all of this movement forward. I feel like I am being catapulted out of a cannon, complete with free-falling and crashing down.  I feel even worse telling this all to you.  I just truly pray that you are beyond happy and at peace.  It is really the only consolation there is for you not being here.

79 weeks and 2 days of missing your cuddles and physical presence and always counting.

Until next time baby girl!

Love always, 

Ema

18 months

Dear Sonzee, 

I am actually lost for words on the fact that it has been 18 months.  The last few weeks have been so draining on the emotional level that I have lost my entire ability to deal with anything grief/you-related.  That makes things extra challenging because trying to ignore grief means I am essentially ignoring you.  I have zero desire to function but have no option not to.  I didn't expect this to get harder.  I thankfully do not have any expectations, but even without them, things keep feeling worse. I am sorry I am slacking on my daily throwback pictures, but that also falls in the scope of things I am finding impossible to do.  It is just this intense feeling of extreme exhaustion, but hard to really put into words.

Monday marked the completion of 78 weeks without you.  Tuesday at 1:08pm marked an entire 18 months without you.  Today, Wednesday, at 1:08pm(AZ time) it will mark the beginning of the next smaller "count up" to the 2-year mark.  I rationalized I could write this today because it is before 1:08pm, and therefore still falls under the official 18 months day, meaning I did not miss the actual date.  Trying to keep my guilt at bay and honor my moment in grief is a massive struggle to balance.  

Today I find myself in Dallas, in our Dallas home, at the Howard's.  It feels comforting to be in their presence during this time because even not talking about anything grief-related aloud we are with people who have lived the same life and journey of CDKL5.  This week brings years of "on this day" memories and moments, and there are some amazing ones, but my heart hurts.  If I harbor any regret within your life frame, it would be that we never got to take you to Morgan's Wonderland.  It was on the agenda that first pitstop here in 2017, but then we just clicked with the Howard's, our plans changed, and we said "next year".  "Next year" became six flags, which we did for 2 years, and then, you were out of "next times".  I probably won't ever be able to bring myself to go there now; that's okay.

It is hard to believe life continues to move on without you here. It still feels like one of those movies where the characters freeze but the background continues to change and all the people outside of the focal point pass by and continue on with their roles. I still feel stuck.  I still feel like I am always struggling to just get through each day.  I still feel like I am back reliving your life and death as if it all just occurred today.  I am thankful for the ability to recall so much, yet am saddened by some of the everyday details that are no longer as poignant.  Certain facts that were once as ingrained in my mind like the ABCs are no longer pertinent to my every day and therefore have been lost, like the ability to remember at what age and how much of your medication you used to take, how you reacted to it, or what side effects you had.  The exact placement of your genetic mutation used to be in the forefront of my mind, and now it requires a text to a friend who knows or a lengthy search through all of your files.  Every day I feel like I lose something else, but I won't know what that is until I am asked and can't remember or a situation brings it to my attention.

18 months have brought your name missing from pull-down bars that hold the names of the rest of us in the family.  Your insurance cards still sit in my wallet behind the ones we now use.  Your room still holds your Rifton chair and your bed, both empty, but unable to be removed.  Your car still sits in the garage, your clothing still sits in piles waiting to be made into blankets.  Your Ativan and meds of a similar type still sit in sealed containers in the laundry room cabinet.  Your presence feels less and less active, and the "caught off guard" moments of grief continue to come like punches to the gut.  Life of us being 6 has (sadly) become normal in terms of your physical presence, despite you always being in our mind.  Sadly the world can't and doesn't read my mind.  

Anyway baby girl. My hope for your 18 months is that they have been the best you could have ever had and better than what I could give you here.  You are never gone from my thoughts. You are never out of my heart. You will forever be spoken about.  Your name will always be said, and you will always be part of our family.  We all miss you and wish things could have been different.  Until we can see you again, continue to run free, and do you!

We love and miss you!

Until next time.

Love always, 

Ema