Our days are blurry and hazy. Annabel and I spend most of our time like this:
Occasionally her daddy steals her away, and this happens:
I love sleeping with her on my chest. I loved it when Maddie slept there. Our hearts beat together, and our chests rise and fall in rhythm. I feel her breath on my cheek, and I hear her little sighs and squeaks. I am getting to know her even when we both sleep.
And we sleep a lot.
When we are all awake, we look into each other’s eyes. We sing songs, some silly, some sweet. Hands are held, hair is brushed.
Stories are told of Madeline. We tell Annabel how alike they look, so clearly sisters, but definitely individuals.
We tell Annie that Maddie hated to have her feet covered by blankets, just like she does. We tell her that Maddie woke up instantly, while she prefers to wake up gradually. We tell her Maddie ate slowly and deliberately, while she gobbles food down as quickly as she can. We tell her that they share a love of snuggling.
There have been lots of tears. As our hearts have expanded, so has the hole caused by Madeline’s absence. We tell Annie what we think her sister would be doing if she were here. We imagine there would be a LOT of kisses from big sister to little sister. We try to give them on her behalf.
At night, I give Annabel a goodnight kiss for her and a goodnight kiss for her sister. Then I wrap my arms around her and I make my nightly wish that her sister will come to me in my dreams.