Aunt Becky is dealing with the loss of a friend.
A little girl friend. A child. Just like my child. But both of mine are alive and well, and this one…well, she’s not anymore.
And I am sad about this. Sad about the world that allows a parent to outlive a child.
Sad about the loss of a future world that doesn’t include this amazing person.
I am sad for the loss of potential life and greatness. I am sad for the things she will never get to see, the love she will never feel, the hurt and loss that she will never experience.
I am sad. Soul sad.
And I don’t know this little person or her parents. I don’t know what a perfectly perfect little person she really was in life. And still, I am sad.
Because every child that is lost — is somehow my child. And every child that is sick or hurt or dying, is somehow my child.
And that is the truth of being a parent. The truth that no one ever tells you. The truth that can’t be explained.
Once you become a parent, every child everywhere has your child’s face, smiles your child’s smile.
And every child that dies is somehow, just a little, your child.
And it is just a little.
Because clearly my grief is nothing compared to the parents of this little girl, but it is there. It is real.
And I am so sad for this family.
So sad for us all.