When it had grown to about ten inches long, perfect in shape and form, it ceased to flourish.
“You can always plant another one,” some told me, insensitive to my loss.
“It was my first.” I’d admonish. “There can only ever be one first.”
A second seed was planted and I rejoiced as it reached fruition.
This year my daughter and I lit a candle, during the international Wave of Light celebration, in remembrance of her unborn brother.
Always with me.