If a Tree Falls in the Forest…

She sleeps.  It’s quiet except for the noise of cars from my window on the busy street I live on.

It’s been a long day of glitter glue and moon sand, a trip to Target to stave off the feelings of total incapacitation and grief of the morning, singing songs with tears while my daughter isn’t looking, and now I sit in bed and watch a video of you playing around this time last year at a festival in Nashville.  I see you smile when you’re introduced and cry quietly like a child.  Then I write about it here because there is no one to see me here and because sometimes grief feels a lot like that old question about whether or not a tree falling in the forest is heard if no one is there to hear it.

It feels like this kind of pain deserves a presence.

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