She looked at her eldest and stifled a sob.
She watched his big hand, that was once so small, her pinky was a tiny fistful, shake the familiar weathered hand of her husband.
Without a conscious thought, her arms were spread in welcome, and need. To hold and be held.
Her nose barely reached the broad shoulder that once when tiny and vulnerable brushed her tummy from the inside.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and imagined. And for just a moment, her eldest was her youngest, and she whispered goodbye.
Read Me 