Suddenly, it is November. The air is chilly and there are roasted chesnut carts dotting the Thames, mulled wine and hot chocolate available in go cups dot markets from Alexandra Palace to parts yet explored.
Your sister, The Benevolent Dictator, is gracious and kind. She laughs easily and readily and sleeps like a champ. I am with her often though not constantly and there are moments when I look at her and can only gape in wonder. She snuggles and I hadn't realized until she snuggled into my chest that first time, her slate-y eyes slightly crossed, her cupid's bow of a mouth lightly open what a small wretched gift it was that I had only gotten to hold you for those few precious minutes. Because, truly, I think to have brought you home, to have cared for you, held you near only to have you die...I don't know that I could have come back from the place that would have led me.
She smells like you, like babies smell. Salty, warm, sweet...full of hope and promise and a bit of heartbreak but of the best kind of heartbreak: the kind where one is left with a deeper capacity to love.