ROSIE. (Word count 419)
I held her in my arms and studied her face, her jet-black hair and her rosy lips. Joy welled up in my heart until I thought my chest would burst. My darling bundle was wrapped in a pretty pink bunny rug that made her pink cheeks glow all the more.
Today in my hand I hold a photograph of that wonderful day, the joy still a vivid memory. I hold it to my breast. With my right hand I turn the pages of the album. Here her first tooth. I gaze at her bright happy face and the big broad smile. It is easy to see her first tooth. I move on.
Now here her first steps caught on camera. Actually on video but we had a still made from it – for the album. Rosie fell on her butt, looked up and laughed, pulled herself up and tried again. I can still hear her laughter. What a delightful personality, what joy to my heart.
Here she is three and a bit holding a flower. Everything, a butterfly, a bird or even a worm all brought excitement and joy for our Rosie. I remember the day last fall when a strong wind blew the autumn leaves how she ran, kicking the leaves. Rosie, my joy and my delight, my Pollyanna. How God has blessed me.
Automatically my hand turned the pages. Here is her first day at school.
“Come on mommy, we mustn’t be late. I’m going to have fun at school. I can’t wait to see Judy. Mommy, Judy doesn’t want to go to school. I told her we’d have lots of wonderful things to do. I promised to be her friend.”
As we walked to the gate Rosie spotted Judy and raced ahead half skipping, half running. Judy was crying and Rosie took her hand.
“Come on Judy, I’ll look after you.”
My own heart was sad that now she was five and ready to go to school. I couln’t be sad though because she was so happy. For her, life was all joy.
I looked out the window. Yesterday? Only yesterday? Time seems to stand still. We met at the gate. She reached up to hug me, her arms full of drawings and things. It is the end of the term.
“Come on mommy, daddy will be waiting. We don’t want to be late for our holiday.”
She stepped into the crossing. The blare of a horn! The screach of brakes! Children screaming! My Rosie!
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