No hush-hush

When I was a young child my daddy died suddenly. I was four. There is discussion as to how he died (heart attack or an aortic tear), but it was traumatic. I was four, however. One thing I remember clearly was my mom's instant grief (later mirrored by my own).  I also remember (this is through a four-year-old lens, so forgive me for errors) the almost as instant feeling that I couldn't talk about my daddy to my mom. I really didn't talk about him to my mom for many years. And it still hurts her to talk about him. As a result, it still hurts me to talk about him. 

I'm not going to erase Katie from my vocabulary. I'm not going to stifle talking about her. Libby and I need to say her name, over and over because she was real. She has too many good qualities to pretend we don't miss her and still love her. 

So there is no hush. And if I cry, I cry. She is as much a part of me as when I saw the pregnancy test and told Joe, "It's a girl. We'll name her Katherine and call her Katie."

She still lives on in each of us that she touched.