A Letter Murmur Lee Harp Wrote to Blossom Cordelia Charleston Nathanson Harp and Tucked in the Pocket of the Dress the Child Was Cremated In

My Dearest Bloom,
Oh, Blossom, how I love you!

No matter what happens or where death takes you, baby, you must never forget the many gifts you gave me. And I will not forget, either. I will remember each one every second of every day. They will be my catechism, guiding me through a life without you: the sweat that beads along your hairline and trickles down your neck in summer’s deep heat, the delight on your face when someone you love walks into the room, the way you pronounce dalmation (A Hundred and One Damnations!), the purity of your love for your daddy (he does love you, baby—he’s just going through a spell), your eyes moving under closed lids as you dream, the kindness you’ve always offered the universe—no wonder dogs and spiders alike are attracted to you—how your feet tap the earth with such wild joy when you dance, your endless stream of questions, the way your arm hairs gleam translucentlike in the sun, the very pretty shape of your nails, the way you sigh when you mull over a math problem, the ferociousness of your tears, the rebellion etching your voice when you sass me, the way you gaze into space, lost in thought, when you think no one is looking, your odd fear of lightning bugs and your obsession with mockingbirds, the excitement in your voice when you talk to me about this or that at school, the fact that you still seem to like lying on the beach with me at night and naming the stars, the many different things you want to be when you grow up (that’s a sign that you see the universe as a giant YES), your disdain for pancakes but your love of syrup, your old soul demeanor with Dr. Simon—your sweet and steady countenance demands respect and challenges him not to give up on you—your wholehearted generosity in putting up with my lotions and potions and talismans, all of you. Really, Bloom, absolutely all of you. There will be no forgetting on my end of things. You might think I’m weird, but even your sour breath in the morning is a scent I treasure.

This is what I want you to remember above all else: You are my heart, Blossom—the reason I breathe.

I don’t want you to be afraid, baby. This is new territory, don’t you know! But never doubt this: You will always be surrounded by love. I’m not far away. Ever. I wish this was different. I want to hang on to you all my days. I will never understand why the universe is taking you. It must be because you are so beautiful. And as much as that tears me up, we must believe that this is a good thing. Because only good things happen to you. Remember that, Blossom. You are charmed. In this life and the next.

When you do go over, I pray that you will haunt me, that in the early-morning light, and eveningsong dusk, and the starry darkness, I will from time to time feel you near. And despite my deep-in-the-gut longing for you, I will glean joy from this idea: You are everywhere, Bloom. I will experience you in this world no matter what. In the sun I will see your smile. The moon? Your sweet blue eyes. And your laughter, that will unfurl for all time in the surf song.

Go with God, baby. And do so with the happiest of hearts.

I love you I love you I love you,

Mommy