I knew a little girl and she died. Her name was Amy and she hadn't even started school. She liked tiny teddy's and cheese sticks. She liked to wear cardigans and necklaces. If she came to our house and Lizzie was in the bath she would rip of her clothes and get in with her. Every time she left our house she would take a pebble from our front path and take it home with her. She liked yellow.
She died one day from a heart condition she had fought for just about her whole lfe. The day she died was Friday 13th of March. Today. Well today is the 14th and I don't know as a parent how you judge these days. By the date or the day. I think, the day – Friday. That was a strange day. I can't explain what I felt. The only way I can describe it is that it felt as if I had no skin and my bones and nerves were exposed to the air. My children were young then. Every day at school they used to write in a diary. And although they didn't write about the day Amy died, they all wrote about the day of the funeral. I kept those diary entries. Lizzie was 5, Lloyd was 7 and Kimba was 9. Back in 1998. It's interesting how they all saw the day. Lloyd remembers the food and the animals, Kimba all serious about the actual heart problem. But it's that little picture Lizzie drew of the three of them near the coffin that blows me away. Life really sucks sometimes.
It was nice knowing you Amy.