My Dearest Angel Face,
I dreamed last night about that Tuesday, the day you turned 8 years old, the day that changed everything. You were there with your smiling face and pink cheeks, dressed in your smocked gown with yellow, tiny roses across the front. When the rays of the sun touched your hair it glistened, all golden like, and you laughed your way through the day surrounded by your friends. Do you remember the gift your momma gave you, the one in the jeweled box, that sang to you? I wish I could hear that song again, to feel close to you, because I miss you. I wish for the life of me you had gotten a chance to listen to it too, more than once. My heart believes wherever you are that you are happy, smiling all golden like I remember. I miss you.
Loving you muches,
As soon as I finished writing the letter I balled it up and threw it in the trash. Part of me felt better after writing it,even though it was really sloppy, but part of me was angry. Anger was not an emotion that I cared for, I didn't know what to do with it, how to act, or how to walk through the day with it, but nevertheless, it was hear, and I had to deal with it. Missing Angel Face came in waves lately. A certain color, or song, or flash in my mind triggered waves of memories of her, and I deeply missed her. Writing her letters seemed to help, but this one, this one seemed to sting a little bit more, because the details of that day were like they just happened, and anger was all I could embrace through it. I made a vow to myself today, that I would do whatever it took to find out exactly what happened to my Angel Face, and where she might be, in Heaven or here, somewhere near me.
Not wanting to dwell on being angry all day, I asked Baby B if she wanted to head outside to play, to feel the wind in our little spits of hair, to just be. Arly was fretting over dust bunnies and catering issues since the wedding was Saturday, so we were left with a lot of free time, Baby B and me.
Baby B dashed for the door and I knew her joy for life was coming back. We played patty cake in the mud, collected three heart shaped rocks, and pretended we were princess fairies with magical powers. It was grand fun, that was until some neighborhood kids stopped by the fence.
Now, I know we look different, I mean, I have a balding head with a blue face and Baby B looks burned and all with her mohawk hair do. But, I never dreamed someone would walk by our own yard and make fun of us. At first the little boys just stared, then they started calling us "Creep Face" and "Burned Baby," which made me angry. Baby B didn't seem to notice, or at least she let on like she didn't, but those words hurt. We walked over to the fence, to try and talk to them, but they just laughed and rode away on their bikes. I stood there for the longest time wondering if this fence was to keep them out, or us in. Honestly, I don't really know now. All I know is that it hurts to be made fun of and I hate it, and for a brief second, I missed that dirt.