It's been eight months since you bounced out of my van and into another. A child lost that I never had the right to.
This thing I do.
Pouring my life into a child.
Loving them as if I had birthed them.
Giving them back when I'm told to.
It is indescribably excruciating.
I got to see you today. You wrapped your arms around me and I breathed you in. You twirled and sang silly songs and chattered away and then you said one little word that smacked me in the face and took my breath away.
"Evenly."
A silly little word my daughter from birth has said since she was tee tee tiny and learning to talk. It was confirmation to me that although our time together is over and the family we made together is no more, you carry pieces of us with you. Our time happened. Our time together mattered. Even as you outgrow this silly little word you will still carry small pieces of us with you wherever you go because we helped shape you.
I knew we would carry you with us for the rest of our days because you broke us in the most beautiful of ways forever changing us.
Now I know you will carry us with you as well.
Evenly now.
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