For Gabe

My dearest Gabriel, 

It has been almost 10 years. I was a child then, and you were the sweetest angel.

Three days was not enough, but I’m sure you know that. 

You may not cross my mind every day, but I keep you with me. Sometimes I’ll pull out your pictures. You were so beautiful and innocent. 

I predicted your birth, you know. And your gender. I remember that day, I came down the stairs, excited to have a new brother. I told Mom,

    “What if you had him today?”

    She laughed.

    “That would be something! But no, probably not.”

But it did happen. You were born too early. And with complications. But we were all so excited; Mom and Dad would finally have a son. Victoria and I would finally have a brother. 

It was breathtaking. 

You were breathtaking. 

Not for long.

It looked alien; the tube that gave you air. I think now, that I hated that tube even though it kept you alive. Although it was a sign that there was a possibility for the inevitable.

Your heart was weak and full of holes, but overflowing with spirit. 

I was extremely hopeful. I was full of faith that we would take you home, and you would be the perfect baby brother. 

I think Mom and Dad knew, but that didn’t stop us all from praying and trying to avoid the thought of you not coming home. 

Ever. 

I held you in my arms. I was only six, but I knew this was a moment I would hold precious. 

You grabbed my finger with your tiny fist. You were warm and full of life.

When they took that white, alien tube away, it didn’t take long. I don’t know why they did. 

I’m not sure if I want to know. 

When you died, Gabriel, it broke our hearts. It would be one of the few times I would see Dad cry.

I cried. I still do. I couldn’t understand how God could take you away from our family. 

From Victoria and I. And soon Rebekah.

I would daydream about the memories we could’ve had and what you would look like.

Maybe you would have dark hair like Dad’s and mine, 

Blue eyes like mine. 

Or Mom’s hazel eyes. 

I would make you play Barbies with me, I would practice makeup on you, we would be pirates or scuba divers of the ocean. We would sail the seas. I would be your mentor, you would be my amazing little brother.

But what hurts me the most is the experiences you’ll never have. You’ll never have a first grade, a first sport, a first crush, a first kiss, a first heartbreak, a first time, a first fight, a first anything. 

You won’t discover your passion. We’ll never travel together. I won’t be able to meet the girl you marry, and I won’t be able to be there at your wedding, cheering you on. 

You won’t get to meet your our little sister, Rebekah. She’s full of life just like I’d hoped you’d be. 

Gabe, I like to think you are in heaven, happy. Like my little angel, going through the motions with me. 

That’s what helps me, when your absence gets to me.

Three days aren’t enough for anyone. But they are enough to know true love. 

I love you very much, Gabriel. Not a day goes by that I don’t.

Your big sis, 

Lauren Welch