Last night I opened Eve's memory boxes. I hadn't looked inside them since packing the casts of her hands and feet away. But I thought that her due date was a good occasion to take them back out again, so I did.
As I unwrapped each cast, horror rocked me all over again.
Her hands, her feet - they were so small.
How could I have forgotten already?
The photos, they make her hands and feet look big, look normal-sized. But they were not, and she was not. She only weighed three pounds and three ounces. Her hands were less than two inches from wrist to fingertip, and her feet less than three inches long.
She was too small. Too small, too early, and too dead.
Even though it hurt that I had forgotten so quickly, I sat with the casts, clumsy reminders of the strength and life that was in her. I sat, cradling the tiny replicas of the hands and feet my daughter once moved within me, and wept.
Baby girl, I miss you so much.
"Sorrow is better than laughter,
for sadness has a refining influence on us."