This is a letter I wrote, nearly two years ago now, to my daughter who should be 4 in August, but won't be.
I still miss you so much. I wonder why you don't come to see me so often anymore. I miss the nights I'd feel your weight on my chest and we'd talk. I suppose you think I don't need you to comfort me
so badly anymore. We each know the other is ok, though, I'm less
sure than you are.
I felt you when you came to meet your little sister the other night, and for that I thank you. I was holding her the same way I held you the day you died. You were a few days older then than she is now,
but it was like holding you all over again. She looks so much like you - she could be your twin.
Both so painfully beautiful.
I hope you know that she was never meant to be your replacement. When the Doctor laid her on my stomach, my first words were, "Oh my God she looks just like Alexis" and I cried - unashamed, unaware of anyone else in the room.
When your Daddy couldn't cut the cord, I volunteered, just like I did with you. I was afraid - afraid that cutting her cord would mean letting her go, like I did with you.
I never meant to let you go baby. I never wanted to, but I did.
You'd have gone away anyway, wouldn't you?
I don't know why you did, but I know you had to.
The Willow weeps tonight little one, despite the knowledge that you wander contentedly upon your lilac breeze. Maybe Daddy and I will come feed the ducks with you tomorrow, and maybe soon, you'll come to see Terra again.
I love you baby girl,