It has taken eleven years for Easter Tuesday to fall on April 22 again.
Eleven years ago this girl was born.
Eleven years ago today she was eleven days old.
She didn't notice the helicopter swoop in.
She had not devoured the chocolate eggs her big brothers were allowed to indulge in.
She did not hear the whispered promises I made to her biggest brother as he lay in ICU that day or the way I bargained with all my powers to a God that didn't listen.
Eleven years is a long time, but it's not really very long at all.
It's long enough for us to have two more weddings and to welcome five new babies into our immediate family. Long enough to travel, to learn, to make marvellous friends. It's long enough to smile again. And laugh. It's enough time to learn that it's more than ok for people to grieve and also be happy at the same time. It's enough time to learn that if God was real he wouldn't take babies from earth before their time, but to let you also indulge in the belief of a heaven, a paradise for children to play in eternally.
It's not long enough that sometimes when you least expect it a song will come on the radio that makes you think of a boy that was only on earth for three years and eight months but who changed the world for you. Because Lochie, the pain in our hearts will always feel like a piece of us is on fire, no matter what it looks like on the outside after eleven years.
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