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So Wrong

It's Sunday morning.  I should be almost ready for church by now.  You should be sitting on the couch in your pretty dress watching Angelina Ballerina while Mommy rushes around.  I should have gotten you your morning spoonful of peanut butter "on a big spoon" like you always request.  I let your cat in a few minutes ago.  I think he misses you exclaiming "Oh, Buster!" and smooshing him with hugs.  He walks to your room and then checks every other room.  He comes in the living room and sniffs a box of your clothes I have out on the floor.  Then he looks at me curiously and meows.  I tell him that you aren't here- that you will never be here again.  I choke the words out again and again until I am wailing.  She's never coming home again!

You didn't want to die.  You told me one night as I was tucking you in bed about two weeks before the accident that you were scared to die.  You had told your Wednesday night teacher that at church, too.  We talked again about Jesus living in our hearts... about how our bodies stop, but we don't stop.  We are with Him just like that- and I snapped my fingers.  I told you heaven was wonderful, and we said our verse together  "The Lord has not given me a spirit of fear but of power, love, and a sound mind."  Then I kissed you good night and told you not to worry about it-  that you didn't need to worry about dying for a long time.

Mommy was wrong.  So very wrong.  Death was lurking right around the corner.  I'm so sorry, baby, that I didn't keep you safe.  I'm so sorry that I didn't bring you home with me.  I'm so sorry when I took you to the beach that I would never bring you back- that you would never see Buster or your room or your friends again.  I know you didn't want to die yet.  I'm so sorry you didn't get to come home with mommy and daddy and the twins.  So sorry, baby, that I was so wrong.  So very sorry.

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