I am imagining the space they are living in right now, that abrupt moment when you switch from planning a wedding to planning a funeral.  I am aching for the father who found her, who knew she was gone first.  I am hearing the talking, the words flying zinging ripping through the air.

I am thinking.  About memorializing, about story, about the things we do to keep them here, about the way some stories don't make sense and about how it is possible that you can feel so much and still have nothing to say.  I am remembering that just two days ago my mother pulled the invitation out of her suitcase and about how cute and sweet we thought it all was.

I am packing a small bag.  I am listening to my father's voicemail because I could not handle his conversation yet.  I am in the kitchen early yesterday morning and I am opening the door so that my mother can come in and tell me that something awful has happened and I am rolling through the possibilities, the list of people I love, I am demanding protection and praying please no.  I am sitting in the diner holding the cup of coffee because I can not get warm and I am waiting for her to meet me so that we can make a plan because a plan feels like the only thing that might help right now.  I am sitting there by myself and I can not get that old hymn out of my head and I can not see Him in this but I am trying.

I am on the phone later that day with my sister and I am so thankful that I still have a sister.  I am thinking about the sister who was left and it is hard not to cry.  I am watching the pictures flood my screens, I am reading the things we say to each other, I am watching a client throw himself to the ground and cry over his bad day and I want to walk away from him.

I want to do a lot of things.  

Already, I am memorializing her.  I am in the car driving from Spirit Lake and I am remembering that she was the first time I realized babies could be beautiful.  I remember thinking she was a doll.  I remember being afraid to touch her.  And I remember my grandpa.  The way he moved from me to her, the way he held her, the things he whispered, I remember his adoration and I loved her more for it because she was everything he said, beautiful and sweet and new.