Six months

My third child would have been six months old today had he not been broken. My dear friend sent me these words this morning. They seem so very fitting to me.

"Where's the funny girl?
Are you ready to believe it's true
That everything we love we lose?
Only in your mind can you choose
Not to live again
And you could find your smile tomorrow
Remember what was beautiful
Not the dark inventions of your burning sorrow"
Polichinelle

"Each time members of the tribe die, the self we were with them dies too, which is to say that the kind of words we spoke only to them- were only to them- and the kind they spoke only to us are spoken no longer. But if outwardly our language is thus impoverished, inwardly it is enriched because when members of the tribe die, the words they were are added to the vocabulary of the heart, where we have more than just ears for hearing them. And each time a member of the tribe is born, a new word comes into being, and nothing is ever the same again."
The Eyes of the Heart, Buechner