It's been six months and seventeen days since my little girl left this world for a better place, free from pain, free from confusion, a place full of light, which her beautiful brown eyes can see again. A place her little legs have regained strength and she's able to run, jump and climb like she used to here. A place the corners of her mouth are curling up once again into smiles and laughter, free from cries of pain or discomfort, the wrinkled brow carefree once again. All of these thoughts are comforting, yes, but they do not replace the burning desire to hold her once again, to see her run and jump and play, to watch her march through the doors of preschool next week complete with backpack, hand-in-hand with her little sister and big brother. I can't help but wonder if Emma would love swimming like Carleigh and Luke, if she would think her baby sister was hilarious or if Cora would get on her nerves. I wonder if she would like purple or if another color would be her favorite. I wonder if she would have been a jokester like her big brother, if she would have been loud like the rest of the kids, if she would have been tall for her age, or kind of short like her Aunt Lori and Neena or Aunt Cindy and Grammy. I wonder if she would have continued to eat everything she could get her hands on or if she would have begun to be a little bit pickier. I wonder who her friends would be...Addison, Kirstin, Arabella, Reece, Peyton, Sara? I wonder if she and Cora would be good roomies. I wonder what their room would look like. I wonder what her voice would sound like...scruffy like Luke's or more high pitched like Carleigh's. I wonder if she would take gymnastics or ballet. I wonder if she would sing like the other kids. I wonder all of these things and more. Would she love watching TV with Luke, make crafts like Carleigh, color like Cora, or would she rather be outside all of the time? Would she have grown out her hair and prefer bows and be more of a girly girl, or want a shorter "do" and prefer to be bow-free? Would she continue to love the beach? Would she love a scooter or bike more? What would her favorite sandwich be? Would she tell her baby sister bedtime stories and sing her to sleep, letting Cora rub her thumb, or would she kick her off the bed and make her sleep on the floor? I wonder all of these things too, and more.
But the beat goes on. No matter how much my heart aches or how much I miss her or how much I strain to remember the good, sweet things about her rather than the sad, she is still gone. Babies are born every day, vacations are taken, kids go back to school, birthday parties are had, grocery shopping is done, meals are cooked, work is done, we go to gymnastics or dance, soccer or piano lessons, we talk about the future, we laugh and play and cry, we read stories, and the beat goes on...
I wish our beat still included a blonde-haired, brown-eyed little girl named Emma.