Twenty-three years ago an angel joined our family. We named her Megan. We called her Meggie or muffin or baby. She would answer to any of those names with a smile. Because that is what she did; she smiled. Oh, she also giggled and laughed. What she did very little of was cry. She was content. Content to be a baby for as long as she could. She waited to walk until she was 15 months. She hadn't given up the pacifier at 18 months. She slept in a crib and had a blankie. And a yellow teddy bear that played a lullaby. She snuggled. 

She had four older sisters that she adored. She had a baby brother that she adored. She adored her mama. But the person she loved the most was her daddy. She followed him around and said, "Dad, dad" in a sing-song sort of way. She was totally a daddy's girl. And her daddy loved it. He had an office downstairs and several times a day I would hear her start down the stairs saying, "Dad-dad" and by the time I would get to her, she would be sitting on her daddy's lap and he would be working with her there. Content.

The few words she knew were always said twice in the same sing-song way: mom-mom, bye-bye, ow-ow, and oops-oops. She threw her pacifier out of her crib everynight. Dozens of times. Carrie would say, "Megan, stop that" and then she would get it and hand it back to her. Megan would giggle because this was the most fun she had. Then Carrie would laugh and then Megan would throw the pacifier. It was a bedtime ritual and she never got tired of it.

This beautiful, dark haired, blue-eyed baby of mine was sunshine. And then she was gone. On a normal, warm September day she died. 

I am grateful for the chance to begin to get to know this little angel that I loved as my daughter, thankful for 18 short months but when she left me, she took part of the sunshine. She took part of my heart. She changed my life forever. And, I miss her. I miss her.