I feel like the next most logical thing to do is write the story of Saersha's birth and death but I am not ready to do that yet. In the thick of grief I did write the story in a journal as far as I could, as far as the point where we had to decide to turn off the machines.

I have not written about holding her and having our only moments together as a family, or about the time we spent with her body after she died or her cremation. I have not written about being given the tiny handful of ashes and bone, with their little metal ID tag. I will write about these things, but not today. 

Saersha's time is when the leaves change colour and when there is a crispness in the air, then when it's dark and wet. Right now it's warm and sunny and life is focussed outwards, not in. But part of me is not engaged in all of that. Part of me is always in winter. Losing her has changed the meaning of time. I am drawn to do this writing but the season is wrong.

At the same time this new life is squirming inside of me and if it is indeed possible that he will live (which I am starting to believe) then I need to make the most of the time I have now to think of Saersha and write. Again I am thinking of the time until vs the time since.

So baby girl, know that I am thinking of you now and always, even though I haven't carved all of the memories into words yet.