Actually, I guess it is the fire in her room. And not quite the fire, but the tiny bugs nightlight. I guess it lasted a good ten months. Maybe ten, since I think we had the nursery set up for well over a month before Sophie emerged. But, I went to bed last night, and lying there, I realized it was quite dark. I groped amidst the moving boxes into the desolate cleared out space that is the once honey-dipped nursery. Now, darkness has settled there too. Ironically, this happened on the eve of the day that her father lovingly transported the chest he made for her to the new house. It is a cedar chest, painted the brilliant color of her room, as if we could ever forget, and emblazoned with a large "S", marking a place for her in our physical home forever. I carefully and tearfully filled it with embroidered Sophie Salome blankets, books and wall hangings, butterfly quilts, congratulations cards bundled with ribbon, sympathy cards bundled with ribbon...I, of course, always want to see events as bits of evidence that Sophie is still with us. Does she know we are moving? Did her perfect spirit leave with her perfect chest, knowing not to stay in this old house forever? I hope she isn't at the new house alone, with the chest...I guess I just have to know she is with me, as much as she is anywhere...
As I get back into the spirit of school, I have written a haiku and a cinquain. How silly...
I miss her tonight.
Burning like fire on my skin.
Licks toward my hair.
Short life
Held in my heart
Lifespan of butterflies
Silent and raw with nuances
Cut cord
2 comments:
Catherine, I'm so sorry that your Sophie left you. Words fail me. My Sophie was just a figment, but Tad and Ellie were only with me for less than a week after the embryo transfer. It was gut-wrenchingly agonizing, and still is.
Great site loved it alot, will come back and visit again.
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