Sundays are tough

Sundays tend to be the most difficult days, especially for Jim. There are so many beautiful memories of Laynee and yet there aren't enough. On Sunday mornings Laynee would rise early and get to come into bed with mommy and daddy. Of course she didn't sit still for one second but we loved every moment. She'd try to stand up and walk across the bed only to stumble over legs or arms and plop back down, usually on top of us. If we would turn and face away from her she'd lean over us and stick her face right in ours. We would take extra care with her hair and clothes on Sunday mornings and then she and I would go to the girls bathroom to show them how pretty she was in her sweet dresses. She didn't stay clean and pretty for long. She'd usually run into her room and come out with a pair of shorts on her head....so much for fancy hair. On Sunday afternoons, after her nap, she would follow daddy around outside. He'd ride tirelessly with her on the golf cart showing her the heehee's and the moo's. Sundays are quiet now without her baby voice and laughter. One of the things I miss most is the sound of her footsteps walking across the floor. Daddy walks outside without his little girl holding his hand. The slide stands silent with no little girl going up instead of down it. The golf cart has not left the shed since September 7th but I look outside and see her sitting there next to her daddy, her hair blowing carefree in the wind and her face glowing with peace and happiness. Her swing glides empty in the wind, a quiet symbol of the emptiness in our hearts.