Sunday, February 17, 2013

the last Sunday

It's the Sunday before. We had breakfast this morning. The last batch of biscuits before you made your appearance. Before you showed us your eyes and your hair and your head and your little fingers and your feet and your toes.

This was your room. Your clothes, ribbons, bows.

Your bed, where you would soon sleep.

The patterns you will see.

You had a room with a view, Marlee. 

And that view, it contained the people who were the cause of those muffled noises you had been hearing.

Today I am grateful to know that this Sunday was the last Sunday we spent without you.

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