So, Sarah's gabbing away, and I notice her eyes aren't as blue as they used to be. In fact, on leaning in closely, I decide they're looking pretty grey. Making me super jealous; I've wanted grey eyes since I was a kid and read about a character in a book (I think it must have been one of Lloyd Alexander's books) described as having them. And like a shot to the gut, all I could think about were Jane's brown eyes. Her funny, wise, warm brown eyes so much like my dad's. And I missed her horribly.
I looked around our table, with its three empty seats. She should have been there. She'd be nine months old tomorrow. Her adjusted age would have been six months. She would have been trying out solid foods. She should have been strapped into Sarah's old high chair, sitting at the table with us at dinner, laughing at Sarah's funny faces and smearing pureed sweet potatoes all over everything except her mouth. And it would have been awesome and normal and a pain in the ass and just perfect.