I hope it rains today.
Because every spring I wait for the first day of March dreading the sunshine and an early spring. Because her birthday, seven years ago today, was an impossibly lovely day, radiant, flower-filled, fecund with promise and the future.
And everything that bloomed that day, down to the most transient and fragile petals, would live longer than she did.
So once again, goodbye, little love. You will remain forever locked in my heart and mind one day old, the oldest you ever grew. Already so many have forgotten you! Our friends don't speak of you, our families don't whisper your name sadly even on this day of all days when you should be remembered...
I want to shout your name in the street; Remember her! Think of her at least once, today, the day she was born and died! Remember!
But they will forget, and your memory will grow faded, and finally only your mother and I will remember the little girl who lived so briefly, who passed so quickly, who ran on the tiny fleet feet that never learned to walk but which carried you swiftly, so swiftly from darkness to darkness.
Bryn Rose Gellar 3/1/02-3/2/02