Now I am happy. Happy in an incomplete kind of way. Never completely happy. Always the lingering feeling of someone missing because, of course, there always is.
Loss has made me at once more fearful that another one of my children will die because I am acutely aware how quickly those precious little people can go from alive and laughing to limp and dead. I am also less fearful and hold my children gently, knowing they are not mine to keep forever. They are God's children. My only hope is to die before them.
Sometimes I wonder if my pain threshold has been maxed out.
I rarely leave the house without my sunglasses. Still. Three years later.