Little Sister

How do you love a person

Who never got to be,

Or try again to see a face

You never got to see?
How do you mourn the death of one

Who never got to live,

When there's nothing to feel good about

And nothing to forgive?
I love you, little sister.

You're a person of the wind,

Free to be the memory

Of all that might have been.
I love you, little sister,

My companion of the night,

Wandering through my lonely hours,

Beautiful and bright.
What does it mean to die before

You ever can be born,

To live the lovely night of life

And never see the dawn?
Ah! My little sister,

You lived like anyone!

Life's a burst of joy and pain,

And then, like yours, it's done.
I love you, little sister,

Just as if you'd lived for years.

No more, no less, I think of you,

The angel of my tears.

-unknown

About a week before Amelia was born, Brock colored two pictures. One for his bedroom door and one for the door of the nursery. At that time we had no idea if the baby was a boy or a girl, but maintaining that it was a girl (or "gril" as he called her), he colored a purple picture for her door. Shortly after her death, Brock commented one night as I was tucking him in that Amelia would never see the picture he drew for her. I tearfully assured him that she had seen it because as his guardian angel, she would watch over him and see all the good things he has done and will do throughout the rest of his life.

Brock is one of the lucky children in this world.

He has his very own angel.

How many kids can say that?