I saw her in the casket, lying peacefully, wearing the animal print dress she had wanted so badly four years before. We had walked around the store and she followed me, crying, wailing uncharacteristically, for me to buy her the dress. "Why are you acting like this?" I was irritated. I was so irritated, in fact, that I felt like flinging her across the aisles.
"I want this dress!" she wailed.
"You never act this way. You're a good kid. Calm. Peaceful. The total opposite of your sister. But now? You're acting like a monster! I already have $400.00 worth of clothes in this cart for you both. I can't afford any more. These prices are outrageous! This is why I buy everything at Goodwill!" I stared at her, beyond frustrated.
She insisted on getting the dress. Of course, I caved.
My younger daughter was the peaceful one of my two kids. She was the easygoing one. The one who gave loving advice and huge bear hugs. The one who told everyone that everything would be okay.
Now I was staring at her lifeless body, her cold, hard shell lying in a casket lined with pink satin fabric-her favorite color. The body of my beloved child adorned with the animal print dress she had pined over in the store four years ago.
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We were standing in my younger daughter’s room a few days before. My older daughter held the animal print dress. “We have to put it on her, mom,” my older daughter insisted through tears and whimpering. “You know how much she loved it. It’s what she would have wanted.”
“I know. Do you remember how she freaked out about that dress when I bought it?” I wiped my eyes, wanting to join my younger daughter in her casket.
"Yes."
We both broke down. It was inconceivable that she had been yanked from us. Our best friend, our confidant, our love.
We carefully picked out jewelry to match.
"She'll be beautiful," my older daughter said. "Just like she'd want to be."
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How will I live without you, Bubby Girl? I can't do this.
I went to her, kneeling in front of the casket. I put my hands over hers, placing one of my best rings on her fingers.
You were with me when I picked this out. My promise ring to God. Now it's yours.
I stared at her face. That beautiful, angelic face with the pouting lower lip. Her hair had recently been dyed red. It looked good on her, falling in soft curls around her cheeks and over her shoulders.
I want to be with you.
I had been through this before. I knew all about God and spirits, angels and heaven. I just didn't want to acknowledge the pain. It was then that I heard her voice.
"I'm not in that casket mom. I'm still with you."
I felt the familiar salty tears fall from my eyes, down my cheeks and into my mouth as I wept.
I know. I just miss you. So much. Every second of every day.
I stared at her, laying my head on the chest of her icy cold body. I smelled formaldehyde.
"That's not me anymore, mom. Remember. Now I can always be with you."
In immense pain, I ran my fingers through her hair, hating the smell and the coldness of her body.
You're right. It's not you anymore. But I still love you and I always will. You'll always be my baby.
I stayed with her a while more as the funeral director closed the doors to the people watching behind me.
I love you, Bubby Girl. Stay with me forever. Help me to keep writing and show me how to take pictures like you did.
"I will, Mommy. I promise."
Never stop calling me Mommy. I love how you call me that.
"I won't, Mommy. Try to be happy. Because I'm happy now."
I ran my hands over her fingers, those beautiful curved fingers that I used to hold in mine. I got up and told the funeral director he could shut the casket. As he did, I knew that my time with my baby wasn't over. It was just beginning.