Postcard from the living.

Four seasons have come and passed us again.

Our kids have grown lankier, funnier, more creative. 

We’re still here.

I dreamt last night of the baby I lost and today I so dearly wanted to call you to talk about her.

But you are gone.

There’s an ache in my throat that just won’t go away.

You are gone. 

You are gone.

We’re still here.

Piecing ourselves back together after The Shattering.

One year on.

The Missing, it stings.

Even when The Living is sweet.

Wishing you were here Rach.