Today was Emílie's due date, and if she had survived, I imagine I would be sitting around hoping to go into labor (although, if she followed in her previous two sisters' footsteps, there would be plenty of waiting left). The morning was spent snuggling under her quilt with the two little girls dragging theirs from their rooms to pile on top. A few moments ago the cheeriest bouquet of flowers arrived at my doorstep from two friends who wanted me know they remembered. I cried, mostly just because I was grateful that someone else remembered. We will hopefully visit her resting place this afternoon, and then, in many ways, it will feel more over than it has.
The "Gravestone Guy" at the cemetery has been strangely elusive, but we finally have a meeting set for Monday, so I am hopeful that our little lady's final resting place will be officially marked soon (it does have a temporary marker, but a strong storm could easily pull it from the ground).
