My dear Amelia,

Yesterday marked the first time I would have dropped you off at church nursery, can you believe it? I can just imagine how you would have ran right in there and never looked back. You’re brave like that, baby girl, and were always completely willing to face the unknown without fear.

It’s a little heartbreaking to know we never got to hit that milestone with you, because it’s a biggie. Your Dad and I would have finally had the chance to relax and sit still in church for once, instead of chasing you! :)

I’m sad I couldn’t spend the day celebrating with you.

I’ve known your 18-month birthday was coming up soon, I could feel it in my gut. I don’t count the days or weeks or months anymore, but for some reason my body just knew about this one all on its own and when I did the math it was spot on. Funny how us mamas just KNOW.

Do you remember last Sunday when the closing song was “Families Can Be Together Forever”? It wasn’t long after the first few notes that I was already choking back tears and heaving sobs. It took everything in me to stay in my seat and not bolt right out of the room. We played that song at your graveside funeral, Amelia, and every time I hear it I picture lowering your tiny body into the hard, unforgiving earth. Every time I hear it I wish I could hold you one last time.

Amelia, this Sunday we sang your lullaby, “Teach Me To Walk in the Light” for the closing song. Did you orchestrate that “coincidence” too? You’ll remember it nearly brought on the waterworks, but I did manage to keep those tears from spilling over my eyes and rolling down my cheeks. The girls I sit next to must think I’m nuts. I hate crying, but it just breaks my heart to know it will be a very long time until I get to hold you in my arms and sing it to you again.

I swear, the days have gotten better, have you noticed? The pain isn’t gut-wrenching and unrelentless anymore, but still hurts in a lonelier kind of way than it used to. This move has been so, so good for us and we love where we live more than ever before, but I do miss the Bay Area. A (quite literal) part of me — that’s you — will always be buried there.

But you’re with me here, too, I can feel it. Always missing you, baby girl.

xoxo, Mama