When our daughter was first taken I thought that it would be the big things that I would miss the most. Things like her companionship 24 hours out of every day, or all of her baby-ness that happily cluttered our home. However what I’ve realized is that it’s not those big things that I miss the most, though those things burn like a fire poker jabbing into the gapping abyss that is life without her, it’s the little things.
I miss the way she would coo and sigh all night long while laying next to me, then smile the instant she awoke and her eyes found mine; the biggest smile.
I miss the way she would wiggle and wiggle until she pulled her arm free from the swaddle that put her to sleep, so that she could lay it over her head in her “power to the people” tribute.
I miss her pulling at everything within her reach when I laid her down on the changing table, and the way that she would protest by grunting, rarely crying, just repeated grunts of dissatisfaction.
I miss how soft her skin was right out of the bath. And I miss how she would stop fussing and watch me intently when I sang “Old McDonald Had a Farm” while massaging her tiny legs and arms with lotion.
I miss the way she settled into my arms, and rested on my chest, when no one and nothing else could soothe her.
I miss all of the little things that really were the big things, all of the little things that she graced my life with, and that have forever changed my heart.