The second I looked at her body in that casket it finally hit me. This was all real. She's gone. My baby girl will never grow up. She'd died at only 15. I think I finally felt the pain a good mother should. I cried tears that were heavy and hot. The tears that seared your skin like summer sun. I felt embarrassed but I couldn't hold it in. I just cried waiting for a moment as if she was gonna open her eyes. And then I remembered I had a three year old joint to me by our hands and rushed off praying, please, please let my little girl open up her eyes. Let her wake up. I beg of anything or anyone mighty enough, let me greet her just once like a real mother should. I paused at the thought and handed my son off to a friend and walked up to the casket once more. How ironic. The one time I'll greet her like a real mother is after she's dead. She'd never even lived to hear it. "Good morning" I began, my voice was hoarse and chalkier than I expected. I watched as tears puddled into her skin. I suppose those tears were mine. "I love you, Valeria."
