I will never look at the sky in the same light.
During the day, Tootie is sunshine. At night, she’s the stars.
I can’t bear to look too long.
I didn’t believe in a Heaven. I do now.
I refuse to accept that she no longer is. Physically, she may not be, but I feel her still.
She can’t be gone.
Tootie is up there. She’s reunited with her mother and, together, they’re looking down at us fondly, hoping for the best and watching over us.
She’s going to watch Leah grow. She’s going to see her reach highschool and disprove of the boy she takes to prom. She’s going to tear at her daughter’s wedding and smile as she holds her first child.
I did not know, as I stood alone by her bedside that day, that it would be the last time I ever saw her. She had moved. It had been our miracle.
No longer was it ‘if’. It was ‘when’.
I held her limp hand and choked.
“We will never leave you.”
You will never leave us.