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Cohen has carried a copy of our book around for three weeks. I discovered it in a random pocket of his backpack a few days after the beginning of October. From the start, he has wanted to read the book, absorb the stories, understand our grief.

Cameron lived it—although only two years old, he remembers the trauma of the months surrounding Abby’s death—I often wonder how clearly he remembers the actual events—I don’t even remember those clearly. He knows the collective pain we felt. Katie Gray laments an older sister she never knew. She imagines her as a friend to have a sleepover play date with or to share hair bows and dance shoes…

David and I are left with the what ifs…Would she play soccer, dance with the team, win the 50 yard free style….Who would she favor—my height, David’s dark hair?

We are left only to guess and make conjectures about height and personality and interests. I have a picture in my mind—the same light brown curls that Katie has with the dimples of Cameron and the languid posture of Cohen.

We recognize clearly how lucky we are-three healthy, smart, talented children with bright futures…but they are always minus one and missing a small piece of the puzzle that builds the fabric of their lives.

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