When for the hundreth time my two year old asks to be carried and I feel put out by the request, I think of you.
When at the days end my eleven year old has told me that she hates me at least five or more times, I think of you.
When my eight year old meltsdown over what I feel is a trivial thing, I think of you.
I think of you and how you are no longer here. I think of your parents and how they cherished every moment with you. The memory of you causes me to be thankful that I have a two year old that wants to be carried, and older children who can express themselves in negative ways.
I think of you when I cuddle my infant and watch her first smiles.
I think of you when I sing with my eight year old as loud as we can.
I think of you when I watch all of my girls dance in the living room and I can see the joy and hear their laughter as they live life.
I think of you and how you will never do these things again. I think of your parents and cannot even fathom what they must feel inside. I think of how life is precious and a gift and in a moment it can end. Your memory reminds me to live everyday thankful. It reminds me to live out loud.
You are much loved Beth and sorely missed.