Nine years. How have nine years gone by? Nine years since I saw your face, held you and just breathed you in, knowing I would have to let you go. So much has changed with time. However, grief is still here. I woke up and remembered this day was your birth day and as I held your sister, I could not breathe. It still hits me like a tidal wave, except now, I know how to let go and manage the weight of it. I guess that is the cliche most talk about . . . how time makes you stronger, able to deal with your death. I have had a lot of practice these years. And I have a lifetime to go. I wonder if when I am 80, I will still smell rose oil and immediately be rocketed back to your birth. 
We live in Germany (for three years now) and you have a new little sister. I told Charlotte about you today, as she nursed. I will tell her about how you helped me regain my faith. I will teach her how to hold onto hope. I will always love her as I do you. I miss you Amelia. . . until we are together again. 
Charlotte is a lot like you!
