She’s gone.
I crawled up into her bed, stroked her hair, whispered in her ear, and ran my cheek across hers. I told her she was my baby girl and I loved her with all my heart and soul.
She mouthed a breathless, “I love you, Mom.”
She’s gone.
Just like that.
A whisper and a breath and done–gone.

The funeral procession lasted what seemed an eternity. So loved, so missed, so irreplaceable, people told us–employers, friends.
The small chapel was overflowing with criers.
My baby girl is gone.