I found a picture frame I’d never filled while moving furniture and knick-knacks around the other day. It’s therapeutic. Like moving thoughts and emotions around in my head to get some harmony, feng shui, balance, sanity, or whatever you want to call it. The red couch is as far against the radiator as it can go. The Ikea cube shaped thing that holds books, toys, art supplies, cd’s, and dvd’s is filled but neat and symmetrical. It’s all lived in and homey but with some sort of order.

So I took this pink and white cameo-shaped picture frame and went searching for a photo. I found a picture of Miriam, maybe a year and a half ago, playing catch with her teacher. Her big smile, the ball as big as Miriam and just a glimpse of the teacher’s adult hands on the ball. I grabbed the scissor and began to cut the photo to fit. Suddenly I froze. What was I doing!? I can’t cut a photograph! Instantly, confusion and mild panic set in. I would never cut a photo of Noah. It’s all we have of him. How could I cut a photo of Miriam? What if…? That fear and shock never goes away. The actualization that the unthinkable has happened.