The following is an excerpt from a letter George HW Bush wrote to his mother a few years after he and Barbara lost their 3 year old daughter Robin to lukemia. It is not only sad and true but beautiful poetic prose;
There is about our house a need. The running, pulsating restlessness of the four boys as they struggle to learn and grow, their athletic chests and arms and legs, their happy noises as the world embraces them . . . all this wonder needs a counterpart. We need some starched crisp frocks to go with all our torn-kneed blue jeans and helmets. We need some soft blonde hair to offset those crew cuts. We need a doll house to stand firm against our forts and rockets and thousand baseball cards. We need a cut-out star to play alone while the others battle to see who's "family champ". We even need someone who could sing the descant to "Alouette" while outside they scramble to catch the elusive ball aimed ever roofward, but usually thudding against screens.
We need a legitimate Christmas angel -- one who doesn't have cuffs beneath the dress. We need someone who's afraid of frogs. We need someone to cry when I get mad, not argue. We need a little one who can kiss without leaving egg or jam or gum. ... We need a girl. We had one once -- she'd fight and cry and play and make her way just like the rest. But there was about her a certain softness. She was patient -- her hugs were just a little less wiggly. Like them, she'd climb in to sleep with me, but somehow she'd fit. She didn't boot and flip and wake me up with a pug nose and mischievous eyes a challenging quarter-inch from my sleeping face. No, she'd stand beside our bed until I felt her there. Silently and comfortably, she'd put those precious locks against my chest and fall asleep. Her peace made me feel strong, and so very important.
"My Daddy" had a caress, a certain ownership, which touched a slightly different spot than the "Hi Dad" I love so much.
But she is still with us. We need her and yet we have her. We can't touch her, and yet we can feel her.
We hope she'll stay in our house for a long, long time.