I wonderwhat you would ask forthis year. Something pink?Something black?A stack of books?A pair of headphonesso you could ignoreyour brothersin peace? Eleven is sucha strange age. Still young enoughto believe in magic,old enoughto begin makingyour own. I wonderwhether you wouldmake a birthday listso longI would laughand tell youto pick your favourites. Whether you wouldtear through…

Two little girlscame into my lifeyears after you left it. And sometimesI watch them togetherand wonderwhat kind of big sisteryou would have been. Would you have laughedat their little arguments? Would you have carriedtheir favourite toysback to themwhen they dropped them? Would they have followed youfrom room to room,determined to be includedin whatevertheir big sisterwas…

I wonder what your smilewould look like now. Not the smileI can imagineon a baby. The awkward,half-grown grinof an eleven-year-oldtrying desperatelynot to looklike a little kid anymore. Would you insiston choosing your own clothesfor picture day? Would I spend the morningfixing your hair,only for youto undo everythingbefore the photographercalled your name? Would you bring homea…

Good morning,my beautiful girl. The house will wake soon. There will be little voices,breakfast crumbs,someone needing something,and all the beautiful chaosthat comeswith raising children. Life has never beenparticularly quietaround here. And some mornings,I am gratefulfor the noise. It reminds meof everythingI still have. But today,I wish there wereone more voicecalling me Mom. One more sleepy…

There are thingsmy mind has struggledto carry. Pieces of timethat grief has blurred,softened,or buriedwhere I cannotalways reach them. But my bodyhas never forgottenthat I was your mother. My arms still understandthe shapeof wanting to hold you. My chest still tightenswhen I hearof another mothersaying goodbye. There are momentswhen I look at your siblingsand feel the…

I know what it meansto watch children grow. To fold away clothesthat fit only weeks ago. To find shoesabandoned by the door,already too smallfor the feetthat once filled them. I know the strange griefof watching childhooddisappearwhile the childis still right there. But you— I never gotto complainabout how quicklyyou were growing. Never got to discoverthat…

People call October beautiful. They speak of amber leaves,cold mornings,pumpkins glowingon crooked front steps. They love the waythe trees surrendertheir coloursbefore winter takes them. I see it too. The gold.The rust.The little deathsfalling quietlyinto the grass. But Octoberhas always knownhow to hurt me. It comes dressedin all the coloursof something beautiful,then presses its fingersinto a…

There should have beena silence large enoughto swallow the earth. The sun should have refusedto rise. The birds should have forgottenwhat they were singing about. Somewhere,a mother was losing her daughter,and the world had the audacityto continue. Lights changed. Clocks ticked. People bought groceriesand complained about the weather. Somebody laughed. Somebody fell in love. Somebody…