Tears.

Drops of emotions much too strong to be expressed through words.

You come at the most inopportune times.

I’ve learned ways to hide you from the world when I don’t want to make others feel uncomfortable--but sometimes your strength is greater than mine and you roll down my cheeks and allow them to see right into my heart.

Mostly though, you join to me late at night when I’m laying in my bed wishing she was next to me longing to find her scent lingering on her belongings.

You escape out of the corner of my eyes when reality sets in that she is never coming back.

You run over my lips leaving a salty trail behind as her memories overwhelm me.

The last hours we had together.

The shape of her mouth when she cried.

The strong grip of her fist around my index finger.

Her wide captivating eyes, full of life.

Lying skin-to-skin, fast asleep, feeling her breath on my chest.

In October 2009 a few weeks after Olive’s birth in Chiang Rai, our close friend Blah shared a dream with me that she had about Olive. We talked about this dream often during Olive's life, wondering if this would become her future.

In the dream it was a beautiful summer day and Blah was out in her front yard hanging laundry out to dry. Little Olive came hobbling down the hill at the hostel calling out her name, speaking perfect Akha. She was beautiful with curls, but had a limp in her walk. She ran up to Blah (maybe about three years old) and jumped on her back and continued talking with her while they finished up with the laundry.

You creep down my cheeks when I think about the loss of the dreams I had for her.

The simple dreams of being her mother. Of changing her diaper in the middle of the night…waking up to soothe her…to feed her…to hold her close and rock her to sleep.