Sugar And Spice....5:45 pm
Reading Angie's latest stunning piece over at Glow, I've been thinking about my comment;
What is Florence made of? Sunshine, and sky, and clouds, and little knitted stitches on bamboo needles, tiny buttons and light cotton dresses with ribbons, the smell of a snuffed out candle, and paper drawer liners, a brush stroke of duck egg blue, porcelain skin, rosy cheeks and cold cold fingers.
I meant every word, Florence is made up of all of those things, and more, but I still hate myself for again packaging her up like a pretty parcel. I have to do it, to me she was, is beautiful. I can very almost see how she would be now at two and a half (and a little bit more).
The cold truth is that I could tell you exactly what she was made of. I have her post mortem report right here. I can tell you how much her heart weighed, the length of her feet, and that her lungs were mirror images of each other.
Sometimes, I take out her post mortem report to read, to feel close to her, to remind myself she was really real. Macabre maybe, but it doesn't feel that way..although I've never told anyone I do this, not even Woody.
There are some people in this world who would say Florence was not a "person". To many I'm sure she was "just a baby", and to others "an angel", or simply "not meant to be".
She was our daughter, a sister, a grand daughter, a cousin, a niece....
She is our daughter.