I can almost see her.

I can almost see her, my sweet Hazel.
She's 2, maybe 3, with brown, ringleted hair.
She's chubby still, toddling after her siblings.

"Hazel!" I call, "Come back!"

But she keeps going, giggling and determined.

I'm mourning all of her, even her name. That name I dreamed of using for 4 years. I wanted this little girl, dared to dream of her, to hope for her. I do not understand this. I can not.

Today is her due date.