little baby girl
I hear you pitter patter
feel your kisses
on my nose
your gentle breath
on my cheeks
notice your new-found ease
with all that once startled
you are whole
and your body has left us
I long to hold you again
to run and play
and climb all the tall things
to offer your squeak
again and again
and again and again
where you are
yet your beautiful light
remains with us
you carved a place in my heart
polished it smooth with your love
and in response
my heart grew and grew
so now your love
a river overflowing
always and forever
you taught me
my precious girl,
There are moments of “normal”. There are moments of fond memories.
And there are moments of regret.
The moments of regret are heavy. The wishing for something different.
The wondering what would have saved her.
What took her body from us?
What more could we have done for her?
Did I fail her?
These questions sear my heart, burning deep into me.
I want to know.
I don’t want to know.
Was she happy?
Even at the end?
Did she have all she needed?
Even at the end?
I know these questions serve no-one.
That the deep dark abyss of regret and guilt changes nothing and brings no light.
But the moments descend on me often. Sometimes for a split second, other times I walk through my day pushing through their heavy stickiness.
I know she doesn’t want me to be sad.
I know she doesn’t understand regret.
I know she wants me to feel only love.
But knowing doesn’t stop me from feeling this sometimes.
And maybe that’s the lesson here.
Knowing doesn’t change anything.
Knowing doesn’t really help.
Having the answers to any of these questions, would change nothing, would help no-one.
I had planned to do a “letting go” ritual yesterday as the moon moved into my opposing sign of Aries.
I performed no ritual.
It felt as if my entire week last week was letting go. I guess I felt I’d earned a pass.
Instead of a ritual to let go, I talked to my soul-family – those sisters of the ether that are the weave and the weft of my heart.
I sorted through photos from a dozen years of our family shenanigans, creating folders to make it easier to find a picture when I search her name.
So many moments of sheer joy, of delight, of trust.
13 years together is a long time in dog years. And in heart years.
And the lessons I’m learning, as I flail through this hollow sadness, are all about love, are all about trust.
And are all about not needing to know, because knowing doesn’t solve anything.