July 16, 2013 marks the day my second daughter was born. I cradled her perfect body, ever so gently, and washed her skin with my tears. I admired her tiny button nose, just like her sister’s, and the voices of little girls laughing together echoed in some distant place in my head. I wrapped her in a yellow blanket and introduced her to her big sister who curiously caressed her fingers and toes, asking finally,

‘Mamma, why are her eyes closed?’

My darling sweet girl, your sister’s eyes will not open now because her soul has left her body.

She sleeps, eternally peaceful, eternally ours.

Yet not for our hands to touch or lips to kiss, not for our arms to embrace or hair to smell.

Sage will returned to the earth now. She will be in the soft falling snow and the gentle breeze that guides red and yellow leaves to the ground. If you look closely you will find her round face in the puffy white clouds in the sky. She will be the crashing waves, the salty ocean air and the fine sand between your toes. You will find her song in the soft rolling hills and her cries at the top of mountains tall. She is everything, everything is her.

So tread lightly on this earth my darling sweet girl, for life is precious and sometimes short. Take heed of all that you love and cherish and that which leaves you in awe and wonderment. Treat everything and everyone with care and compassion because, truly, we are all One. And when you feel the crushing weight of agony on your chest with some unexplainable pain, not knowing if you have the strength to continue on – you do, and you will.

Sage, you are wise and clear. I’ve wept in heartbreak and cowered in fear. I’ve let anger rage in my soul and have known a loneliness to the depths of drowning. Now I sit in stillness and call upon peace to wash over me, as I emerge renewed and alive as a result of knowing you. We will meet again, sweet daughter of mine, in oceans vast and mountains high.

I love you.