Ten years is too long, a fear that to others she may be fading
Ten years is her imagined height, and length of hair; the clothes she would be wearing this summer
Ten years is as an overwhelming bout of crying, when returning to the hospital to plant a flower
Ten years is like digging in the ground
Ten years is driving away from a commemorative rose and fretting it will die
Ten years is sometimes not thinking about her
Ten years is understanding that
Ten years is the time it’s taken to include her when asked how many children I have
Ten years is not a shameful secret
Ten years is her first sleep suit still under my pillow
Ten years is two books, a baby, a new house, another dog
Ten years is not feeling her let go of my hand or take hold of it again
Ten years is tomorrow
Rebecca Goss 
❤️ So beautifuly expressed. Thank you.
Beautiful
Very moving, the passing of time is a strange business.
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