Goodmorning, Starshine. Your dad and I are going to see Grandma and Grandpa today; we're leaving around 2 this afternoon. This will be the first time we've gotten to see them since we lost you, dearheart. I admit, I'm a little nervous. Every day gets closer to Christmas, and close to February, when we were supposed to be welcoming you into the world.
Lately, it's been hard. I've been missing you every day, wishing that I could have you back, so I could hold you. I wish I knew what you looked like, little one. You know, dad and I never got an ultrasound picture... we got to see your heart beating one time, though. It was the most beautiful thing that I'd ever seen. I'll always, always keep that memory dear.
I need to go to bed, Dahlia. But I had just wanted to let you know that I'm thinking of you, and that I love you more than anything. I hope it's warm in heaven... it's raining down here.
- Loki
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Saturday, December 18, 2010
There was rain today
Oh angel, I hope that you know that just because I haven't written here in a long time doesn't mean that I don't think of you every single day. A very nice woman made me a pair of angel wings with your name on them-- they're on one of my bulletin boards above the desk that I work at, and I look at them whenever I need to feel closer to you.
Your papa and I were talking about feeling close to you last night. He said that he didn't feel you near him, but that he'd never felt any sort of angel near, not even when he desperately wanted it. I feel you from time to time, usually when I get the feeling that your Uncle Mark is around. It makes me smile through the sadness to think that he's carrying you in his arms to come and see me.
I never showed you the picture that your Aunt Ziri made. So, here it is:
I draw myself and your papa as a snow leopard and a fox all the time; your auntie made you a mix between the two. This picture always makes me smile, because I know that Mark is looking out for you... and always so, so sad because I can't be the one to hold you. I know that someday, I'll be up there in Heaven, able to love you.
I think about you all the time, little darling. I know that your memory creeps up on your papa from time to time; he's handled losing you much better than I have. I still cry and grieve and mourn. He doesn't. I don't quite understand why-- neither does he. I think that it's just the way that evolution made the male of the species.
Jessi is having a girl, Dahlia. I hope that while you were still with us, you didn't hear all of the horrible things that she said to you. I hope that you weren't listening at Thanksgiving when she told me to shut up when I started to talk about you. I really dislike her, Dahlia. I really do. But because I'm me, I think that I'm still looking for a tiny bit of good in her. I don't know if I'm ever going to find it. Right now, the only good about her is that she's carrying an innocent child in her belly. I hope that she isn't as cruel to her baby as she is to me.
I also hope that when we go to the family gathering for Christmas, that she doesn't spend another six hours only talking about how pregnant she is, and how wonderful it feels. She told me "I can feel the baby moving! You wouldn't know about that though, would you, Loki?"
It broke my heart, and I wanted to punch her in the face. It wouldn't hurt her baby if I broke her jaw, really. But I'm trying to be a good person. I didn't let it show on my face how much she'd hurt me by saying that. If I rise to her bait and fight back, then I'm no better than she is.
Hate aside, I love you Dahlia. I love you more than anything-- the stars, the moon, the grass and the rain outside. Did you enjoy the rain today? I did. There wasn't any thunder-- I'm terrified of thunder. I wind up hiding under my covers when it booms across the sky. I think you'd think it silly. But then if you did, I would have gotten to hear your little laugh.
I was supposed to be having you in seven weeks, angel. I think that the next seven weeks are going to be really, really hard for me. I know that this Valentine's Day is going to break my heart-- I won't be bringing you into the world. Instead, I'll be grieving that you're not in my arms.
Forever,
Loki
Your papa and I were talking about feeling close to you last night. He said that he didn't feel you near him, but that he'd never felt any sort of angel near, not even when he desperately wanted it. I feel you from time to time, usually when I get the feeling that your Uncle Mark is around. It makes me smile through the sadness to think that he's carrying you in his arms to come and see me.
I never showed you the picture that your Aunt Ziri made. So, here it is:
I draw myself and your papa as a snow leopard and a fox all the time; your auntie made you a mix between the two. This picture always makes me smile, because I know that Mark is looking out for you... and always so, so sad because I can't be the one to hold you. I know that someday, I'll be up there in Heaven, able to love you.
I think about you all the time, little darling. I know that your memory creeps up on your papa from time to time; he's handled losing you much better than I have. I still cry and grieve and mourn. He doesn't. I don't quite understand why-- neither does he. I think that it's just the way that evolution made the male of the species.
Jessi is having a girl, Dahlia. I hope that while you were still with us, you didn't hear all of the horrible things that she said to you. I hope that you weren't listening at Thanksgiving when she told me to shut up when I started to talk about you. I really dislike her, Dahlia. I really do. But because I'm me, I think that I'm still looking for a tiny bit of good in her. I don't know if I'm ever going to find it. Right now, the only good about her is that she's carrying an innocent child in her belly. I hope that she isn't as cruel to her baby as she is to me.
I also hope that when we go to the family gathering for Christmas, that she doesn't spend another six hours only talking about how pregnant she is, and how wonderful it feels. She told me "I can feel the baby moving! You wouldn't know about that though, would you, Loki?"
It broke my heart, and I wanted to punch her in the face. It wouldn't hurt her baby if I broke her jaw, really. But I'm trying to be a good person. I didn't let it show on my face how much she'd hurt me by saying that. If I rise to her bait and fight back, then I'm no better than she is.
Hate aside, I love you Dahlia. I love you more than anything-- the stars, the moon, the grass and the rain outside. Did you enjoy the rain today? I did. There wasn't any thunder-- I'm terrified of thunder. I wind up hiding under my covers when it booms across the sky. I think you'd think it silly. But then if you did, I would have gotten to hear your little laugh.
I was supposed to be having you in seven weeks, angel. I think that the next seven weeks are going to be really, really hard for me. I know that this Valentine's Day is going to break my heart-- I won't be bringing you into the world. Instead, I'll be grieving that you're not in my arms.
Forever,
Loki
Monday, October 11, 2010
Holidays
Good morning, darling.
I'm having a rough night tonight, little bug. The Red Death started this afternoon- it's not as traumatic as it was last month. I was at least expecting it this time, and at least I'm a bit more prepared for how painful it might be. I wasn't prepared, though, for how much of an impact starting birth control would be. I mean.... I knew that it would make me sad, because it's another note of finality. But I just... I didn't think it would hurt this much.
I know I don't have a choice in the matter at the moment. Well, I do. I always have a choice. But choosing to not use b/c would be amazingly irresponsible of me. Your dad wants to wait, anyway. I don't, completely. My head says it's a good idea, but my heart just keeps fighting that NOW is the time to try again.
On a different side of the coin, I've been thinking about the holidays next year. About Valentine's Day, which was your due date. And Mother's Day. I'm.... I'm scared that no one will wish me a good mother's day. I'm still your parent, even though you're not here, little one. I'm scared that your dad and I will be the only people recognizing that. There was this poem that I read, that I want to put here, that another mom who lost her little one wrote.
"Dear Mr. Hallmark, I am writing to you from heaven, and though it must appear
A rather strange idea, I see everything from here.
I just popped in to visit, your stores to find a card
A card of love for my mother,as this day for her is hard.
There must be some mistake I thought, every card you could imagine
Except I could not find a card, from a child who lives in heaven.
She is still a mother too, no matter where I reside
I had to leave, she understands, but oh the tears she's cried.
I thought that if I wrote you, that you would come to know
That though I live in heaven now, I still love my mother so.
She talks with me, and dreams with me; we still share laughter too,
Memories our way of speaking now, would you see what you could do?
My mother carries me in her heart, her tears she hides from sight.
She writes poems to honor me, sometimes far into the night.
She plants flowers in my garden, there my living memory dwells
She writes to other grieving parents, trying to ease their pain as well.
So you see Mr. Hallmark, though I no longer live on earth
I must find a way, to remind her of her wondrous worth.
She needs to be honored, and remembered too
Just as the children of earth will do.
Thank you Mr. Hallmark, I know you'll do your best
I have done all I can do; to you I'll leave the rest.
Find a way to tell her, how much she means to me
Until I can do it for myself, when she joins me in eternity."
I really love that poem, even if it makes me cry. I miss you, little bug. I hope that you're having fun with Uncle Mark. I'm going to go lie down try to sleep now. I'll probably just cry.
I love you.
I'm having a rough night tonight, little bug. The Red Death started this afternoon- it's not as traumatic as it was last month. I was at least expecting it this time, and at least I'm a bit more prepared for how painful it might be. I wasn't prepared, though, for how much of an impact starting birth control would be. I mean.... I knew that it would make me sad, because it's another note of finality. But I just... I didn't think it would hurt this much.
I know I don't have a choice in the matter at the moment. Well, I do. I always have a choice. But choosing to not use b/c would be amazingly irresponsible of me. Your dad wants to wait, anyway. I don't, completely. My head says it's a good idea, but my heart just keeps fighting that NOW is the time to try again.
On a different side of the coin, I've been thinking about the holidays next year. About Valentine's Day, which was your due date. And Mother's Day. I'm.... I'm scared that no one will wish me a good mother's day. I'm still your parent, even though you're not here, little one. I'm scared that your dad and I will be the only people recognizing that. There was this poem that I read, that I want to put here, that another mom who lost her little one wrote.
"Dear Mr. Hallmark, I am writing to you from heaven, and though it must appear
A rather strange idea, I see everything from here.
I just popped in to visit, your stores to find a card
A card of love for my mother,as this day for her is hard.
There must be some mistake I thought, every card you could imagine
Except I could not find a card, from a child who lives in heaven.
She is still a mother too, no matter where I reside
I had to leave, she understands, but oh the tears she's cried.
I thought that if I wrote you, that you would come to know
That though I live in heaven now, I still love my mother so.
She talks with me, and dreams with me; we still share laughter too,
Memories our way of speaking now, would you see what you could do?
My mother carries me in her heart, her tears she hides from sight.
She writes poems to honor me, sometimes far into the night.
She plants flowers in my garden, there my living memory dwells
She writes to other grieving parents, trying to ease their pain as well.
So you see Mr. Hallmark, though I no longer live on earth
I must find a way, to remind her of her wondrous worth.
She needs to be honored, and remembered too
Just as the children of earth will do.
Thank you Mr. Hallmark, I know you'll do your best
I have done all I can do; to you I'll leave the rest.
Find a way to tell her, how much she means to me
Until I can do it for myself, when she joins me in eternity."
I really love that poem, even if it makes me cry. I miss you, little bug. I hope that you're having fun with Uncle Mark. I'm going to go lie down try to sleep now. I'll probably just cry.
I love you.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Good morning, Starshine. I haven't slept tonight, kiddo. I'm too nervous and scared and sad about the doctor's appointment tomorrow. They're going to make sure that your dad and I don't add a little one to the family before we're ready; it makes me hurt so deeply, because I should be pregnant with you right now. To top things off, it's a Monday-- it was a Monday when I found out that we'd lost you. Mondays and Wednesdays are the worst.
I cried a lot earlier. Missing you, the sadness... it all hit me so hard and so strongly that I broke down. I had to use a few of my old (but good) tricks to ground myself again. I held tight to Mr. Bear-- the one that Tannermom loaned me-- and cried. I'll have to remember to wash him before I give him back. I tried not to wake up your dad, but I wound up rousing him when I went to blow my nose. He let me cry on him for a bit- but then I realized that I was keeping him up. I know he didn't mind, and I know he would'v happily let me stay there and cry, but I just needed to work through this.
Your Uncle Stoker helped, too; he'd asked if I wanted to call him-- but I knew that I wouldn't be able to actually speak. So we talked over AIM. I wish you could meet him and Razz; they're great people. They were here with your dad and I for a whole month after we found out. I know you'll get to meet them some day- they're the type of people that will go somewhere spectacular when the time comes.
I don't know what I'd do without friends like that, honey. Probably wither away.
I have to confess, little one. I'm jealous of my friends who are expecting. I'm flat-out terrified of Jessi getting pregnant. I know she's going to flaunt it every chance she gets. I'll do my absolute best to be polite and happy for her-- I want to show her the courtesy and kindness that she didn't show to me. Part of me knows that would be a slap in the face, and part of me just wants to do it because it's the right thing.
I'm jealous of my other friend, too. She's been in on-and-off labor for the last week. I both envy and don't envy her. I wouldn't want to be in pain for that long, but at the same time... I'd do it for however long it took, and take all the pain in the world if it meant that I could have you in my arms.
I should wrap this up before I start crying again, little bug. I love you always.
- Loki
I cried a lot earlier. Missing you, the sadness... it all hit me so hard and so strongly that I broke down. I had to use a few of my old (but good) tricks to ground myself again. I held tight to Mr. Bear-- the one that Tannermom loaned me-- and cried. I'll have to remember to wash him before I give him back. I tried not to wake up your dad, but I wound up rousing him when I went to blow my nose. He let me cry on him for a bit- but then I realized that I was keeping him up. I know he didn't mind, and I know he would'v happily let me stay there and cry, but I just needed to work through this.
Your Uncle Stoker helped, too; he'd asked if I wanted to call him-- but I knew that I wouldn't be able to actually speak. So we talked over AIM. I wish you could meet him and Razz; they're great people. They were here with your dad and I for a whole month after we found out. I know you'll get to meet them some day- they're the type of people that will go somewhere spectacular when the time comes.
I don't know what I'd do without friends like that, honey. Probably wither away.
I have to confess, little one. I'm jealous of my friends who are expecting. I'm flat-out terrified of Jessi getting pregnant. I know she's going to flaunt it every chance she gets. I'll do my absolute best to be polite and happy for her-- I want to show her the courtesy and kindness that she didn't show to me. Part of me knows that would be a slap in the face, and part of me just wants to do it because it's the right thing.
I'm jealous of my other friend, too. She's been in on-and-off labor for the last week. I both envy and don't envy her. I wouldn't want to be in pain for that long, but at the same time... I'd do it for however long it took, and take all the pain in the world if it meant that I could have you in my arms.
I should wrap this up before I start crying again, little bug. I love you always.
- Loki
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Troubles
Dahlia, darling-
It's been a few weeks since I last wrote to you, and I apologize for that. I talk to you every day, every night... every chance I get. I miss you so much.
I'm not sure why, but last night was difficult. Your dad and I had just spent some special time together- you're too little to really know what that means - and afterwards when he was asleep, I just started crying and crying. I couldn't stop. He woke up after about fifteen minutes and held my hand and sleepily told me that it would be alright, and to not cry.
I don't really understand why I shouldn't cry; I know that he says it out of love, and because he wants me to be happy. I know he understand why I'm crying, and that I need to-- but I don't get why people have to tell me "don't cry". Or even, "it's okay.". It's really not. I lost my child. That's about as not okay as a person gets.
I'm scared, too, 'lia. I have an appointment coming up so that I can have consultation for birth control. I've tried so many different ones, and they've all just wound up hurting me. And I know that this time, I really don't want to go on it-- your dad wants me to. He doesn't want to 'risk' having me get pregnant for at least a year and a half. But I want to be pregnant so, so badly. I want to have the big belly to rub. I want the morning sickness and the heartburn. I want the exhaustion and the moodiness. I want to be able to have a living child. It's hard to be standing on the opposite side of something as big as this from Robby. Logically, I know that we should wait. But my logic is the only thing that agrees with that. Everything else is screaming that we should be trying to have another little one.
I think that another reason that I don't want the birth control is that it just re-enforces the fact that you're gone. That I'm not 20 weeks pregnant. That I'm not expecting a gorgeous baby. It just gives me one more reminder that my body failed me. Failed you.
This isn't a very happy post, little darling. I'm sorry.
- Loki
It's been a few weeks since I last wrote to you, and I apologize for that. I talk to you every day, every night... every chance I get. I miss you so much.
I'm not sure why, but last night was difficult. Your dad and I had just spent some special time together- you're too little to really know what that means - and afterwards when he was asleep, I just started crying and crying. I couldn't stop. He woke up after about fifteen minutes and held my hand and sleepily told me that it would be alright, and to not cry.
I don't really understand why I shouldn't cry; I know that he says it out of love, and because he wants me to be happy. I know he understand why I'm crying, and that I need to-- but I don't get why people have to tell me "don't cry". Or even, "it's okay.". It's really not. I lost my child. That's about as not okay as a person gets.
I'm scared, too, 'lia. I have an appointment coming up so that I can have consultation for birth control. I've tried so many different ones, and they've all just wound up hurting me. And I know that this time, I really don't want to go on it-- your dad wants me to. He doesn't want to 'risk' having me get pregnant for at least a year and a half. But I want to be pregnant so, so badly. I want to have the big belly to rub. I want the morning sickness and the heartburn. I want the exhaustion and the moodiness. I want to be able to have a living child. It's hard to be standing on the opposite side of something as big as this from Robby. Logically, I know that we should wait. But my logic is the only thing that agrees with that. Everything else is screaming that we should be trying to have another little one.
I think that another reason that I don't want the birth control is that it just re-enforces the fact that you're gone. That I'm not 20 weeks pregnant. That I'm not expecting a gorgeous baby. It just gives me one more reminder that my body failed me. Failed you.
This isn't a very happy post, little darling. I'm sorry.
- Loki
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Hi sweetie.
A very nice lady is making me and Dad a pair of angel wings with your name on them; we're going to put them by the picture that your Aunt Ziri drew of you and Mark. Is he taking care of you up there? I hope he is. It makes me feel better to think that my brother is holding you, and keeping you safe. I don't think that there's any reason for tears up where you are, but I'm sure that if for some reason you cry, he'll be there to soothe them away. I wish more than anything that it could be me taking care of you, but I know it can't.
I keep having to remind myself, too, that there wasn't anything that I could have done to save you. I tried my hardest to keep myself healthy, to make sure that you were healthy and to be a good mom while you were here. I keep trying so hard to tell myself that this wasn't my fault. Your Dad reminds me from time to time, too. But some part of me is full of doubt; what if this is my fault? What if I'd stayed home instead of going to AX? Gotten more rest? Eaten more veggies? Stressed less? The world, and my mind, is full of 'what-if's', little girl.
I know I'm going to see you someday, when I'm old and have gone out fighting zombies-- or died in my sleep, either one works. I know you'll be waiting for me, and I'll hold you and kiss you and tell you how much I love you. If your Dad hasn't beaten me to the finish line, we'll wait for him together and ask him what took him so long when he makes it up there.
I love you, Dahlia.
- Loki
A very nice lady is making me and Dad a pair of angel wings with your name on them; we're going to put them by the picture that your Aunt Ziri drew of you and Mark. Is he taking care of you up there? I hope he is. It makes me feel better to think that my brother is holding you, and keeping you safe. I don't think that there's any reason for tears up where you are, but I'm sure that if for some reason you cry, he'll be there to soothe them away. I wish more than anything that it could be me taking care of you, but I know it can't.
I keep having to remind myself, too, that there wasn't anything that I could have done to save you. I tried my hardest to keep myself healthy, to make sure that you were healthy and to be a good mom while you were here. I keep trying so hard to tell myself that this wasn't my fault. Your Dad reminds me from time to time, too. But some part of me is full of doubt; what if this is my fault? What if I'd stayed home instead of going to AX? Gotten more rest? Eaten more veggies? Stressed less? The world, and my mind, is full of 'what-if's', little girl.
I know I'm going to see you someday, when I'm old and have gone out fighting zombies-- or died in my sleep, either one works. I know you'll be waiting for me, and I'll hold you and kiss you and tell you how much I love you. If your Dad hasn't beaten me to the finish line, we'll wait for him together and ask him what took him so long when he makes it up there.
I love you, Dahlia.
- Loki
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Letters in Smoke
Hey there, darling.
It's been a month and nine days since your dad and I found out that we lost you. It's been a month and seven since they induced my body to recognize that you weren't there anymore. It's been the roughest month of my life.
Robby, who is your dad, has been my rock through all of this. I'm not sure if I'd still be here without him. I would've just given up by now, if he hadn't been there to share all this with me. He's such an amazing, wonderful guy-- I wish that he could've met you. I wish that I could've met you.
You left us too early for us to even hold. I thought I was about to be twelve weeks; you left at eight weeks and two days, according to the ultrasound. When we found out, we couldn't stop crying. The tears just came and came. Your dad tried to call one of our close friends to come be with us-- she's like a mother to us, and would've been like a grandma to you, Dahlia. He couldn't talk through the tears; that was one of the only times during all of this that I was able to get a handle on my emotions through a sheer force of will. I told her what happened, and she very gladly came over.
I remember laying on the couch that night, in your dad's arms, while she called my family-- I couldn't bring myself to, but I wanted to just get it over with. I wanted them to know. I don't remember, though, when our friends came and took the changing table away. It made me so upset that they did that. When I walked into the bedroom and saw that it wasn't there anymore. It felt, at the moment, like they were trying to make me forget that you'd been here in our lives. I know that they were just trying to help, but... it hurt.
I miss you so much. We don't even know if you were a boy or a girl-- we think that when you left, all the parts hadn't started to develop yet, and we know that before a baby's body "picks" its sex, it's female. So that's what we cemented in our minds for you. I don't care if you were male, female, both... I just want to hold you. I know that up in heaven, which is where I'm sure you're waiting for me and dad, that your Uncle Mark has his hands full with you, and with your unnamed sister from all those years ago. I wish that I'd given her a name. I hope that you've picked something to call her by-- maybe your uncle has. Maybe as this pain lessens, I'll be able to find a good name for her- I've always liked the name Olivia. Maybe?
Today hasn't been a good day, little darling. Yesterday was fabulous-- it marked a year that your dad and I have been married. We celebrated, we loved each other, we were silly and geeky and all the things that make us up. I feel guilty for being so happy. I know it's silly, but I do. I should've been pregnant with you. I should've been almost seventeen weeks. I'm surprised that I was able to push all the sadness away for a day. But it's all back today, in triplicate.
I gave this journal the title 'letters in smoke' because there's a custom where people will burn letters, or symbolic things and let the smoke carry their message up to heaven-- to God, to their loved ones... I know that the ancient Greeks and the early Christians used to give burnt offerings because they knew that their God (or Gods, in the case of the Greeks... I wish I could've taught you all I know about mythology) would see the smoke and know that they were sending him an offering. I can't bring myself to burn anything of yours. I haven't written any letters on paper. But when dad and I go off for our camping trip- we still want to, to remember you and put your memory to rest - we'll send something up to you.
We love you, Dahlia. I love you. I'll see you someday, angel.
- Loki
It's been a month and nine days since your dad and I found out that we lost you. It's been a month and seven since they induced my body to recognize that you weren't there anymore. It's been the roughest month of my life.
Robby, who is your dad, has been my rock through all of this. I'm not sure if I'd still be here without him. I would've just given up by now, if he hadn't been there to share all this with me. He's such an amazing, wonderful guy-- I wish that he could've met you. I wish that I could've met you.
You left us too early for us to even hold. I thought I was about to be twelve weeks; you left at eight weeks and two days, according to the ultrasound. When we found out, we couldn't stop crying. The tears just came and came. Your dad tried to call one of our close friends to come be with us-- she's like a mother to us, and would've been like a grandma to you, Dahlia. He couldn't talk through the tears; that was one of the only times during all of this that I was able to get a handle on my emotions through a sheer force of will. I told her what happened, and she very gladly came over.
I remember laying on the couch that night, in your dad's arms, while she called my family-- I couldn't bring myself to, but I wanted to just get it over with. I wanted them to know. I don't remember, though, when our friends came and took the changing table away. It made me so upset that they did that. When I walked into the bedroom and saw that it wasn't there anymore. It felt, at the moment, like they were trying to make me forget that you'd been here in our lives. I know that they were just trying to help, but... it hurt.
I miss you so much. We don't even know if you were a boy or a girl-- we think that when you left, all the parts hadn't started to develop yet, and we know that before a baby's body "picks" its sex, it's female. So that's what we cemented in our minds for you. I don't care if you were male, female, both... I just want to hold you. I know that up in heaven, which is where I'm sure you're waiting for me and dad, that your Uncle Mark has his hands full with you, and with your unnamed sister from all those years ago. I wish that I'd given her a name. I hope that you've picked something to call her by-- maybe your uncle has. Maybe as this pain lessens, I'll be able to find a good name for her- I've always liked the name Olivia. Maybe?
Today hasn't been a good day, little darling. Yesterday was fabulous-- it marked a year that your dad and I have been married. We celebrated, we loved each other, we were silly and geeky and all the things that make us up. I feel guilty for being so happy. I know it's silly, but I do. I should've been pregnant with you. I should've been almost seventeen weeks. I'm surprised that I was able to push all the sadness away for a day. But it's all back today, in triplicate.
I gave this journal the title 'letters in smoke' because there's a custom where people will burn letters, or symbolic things and let the smoke carry their message up to heaven-- to God, to their loved ones... I know that the ancient Greeks and the early Christians used to give burnt offerings because they knew that their God (or Gods, in the case of the Greeks... I wish I could've taught you all I know about mythology) would see the smoke and know that they were sending him an offering. I can't bring myself to burn anything of yours. I haven't written any letters on paper. But when dad and I go off for our camping trip- we still want to, to remember you and put your memory to rest - we'll send something up to you.
We love you, Dahlia. I love you. I'll see you someday, angel.
- Loki
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