Sunday Scribblings prompt this week is PHOTOGRAPH.
Her sweet little picture has been on my refrigerator from the day she was born. Oh, the picture changed, as she did, but one was always there. The most recent showed a smiling face with the quilt I had made for her. Her eyes squinted shut, and that baby grin with all her teeth showing. Smiling for her Auntie.
At just 15 months, she didn’t say much. She didn’t have to. Her eyes and her actions told the world how she was feeling. You knew when she was happy to see you. When she was hungry. When things in her world weren’t quite right. Oh yes, she had that one down pat. She lit up for her Mommy and Daddy, and sometimes ran for cover when her brother headed her way. She is beloved, our precious baby girl, and now our little angel.
There was nothing wrong with her. Not visibly. The defect that her little body harbored from the day she was conceived, was not something that presented itself to her doctor, much less her parents. It took a coroner and lots of testing to find out what had happened. It was good to know that it wasn’t something that could have been prevented. Less guilt that way. But it doesn’t help the hurt. The pain of losing this precious child may dim over the years, but it will never, ever, go away.
And until we are with her again, we have photographs. Lots and lots of them. She smiles at us from the kitchen frig, from our desks, and our walls, and the screen saver on our computer. Until we can have the real thing, in heaven, photographs will have to do.
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how very sad. this broke my heart. i can empathize as i have lost two. my heart goes out to you and her parents…
blessings and love,
rebecca
It hurts so much when it happens. The photographs will grow more and more precious to you and her parents.
Sad and beautiful. Remember all the happy memories of your little angel, always.
Lovely writing. . .her beauty lives on. Thanks for sharing such a poignant view of a photograph on your fridge.
Very sad. You are so brave to have posted this, although I expect writing about it can be theraputic.