In some ways, it does not feel like six years have passed since Beatrice was born. I really can go back, in my heart, to the first week days after she was stillborn, and recall the waves of grief and the pain of longing for my daughter. In another sense, though, it feels like longer than six years, because so much has happened: Charlotte, James finishing his PhD and getting a job at UD, the move across town, my book, Calvin. Sometimes it feels like a whole lifetime.
Each year, we buy a single red balloon–easy to get around Valentine’s Day–and go up to the reservoir to release it.
It was chilly but a beautiful evening, the sun just going down over the water.
Calvin was happy to be out with the family and completely enamored with the balloon.
There is something so pretty about watching a balloon sail away into the sky.
The girls wanted to know where the balloon went after we couldn’t see it anymore. We talked about how far it could go. Charlotte thought it might go down to Grandma and Papa’s house, where Beatrice is buried.
Evelyn: “I think it’s going to pop on the point of a star.”