Daughter dearest, Delilah, delicate dandelion dancing in a field of flowers that can never compare to your iridescent soul. Today is your birthday, and so I give you the warmest regards a father is able, the brightest a man can spare lest he should wish to join you. Today, you would have been ten years old. In my heart and mind, you are.
I hope the eternal component which comprised but a third of who you are is faring well, wherever you may be. Your body has been given the utmost care, with no rock unturned during the polishing and daily maintenance of your body. In fact, as I put pen to paper right now, your mother is washing your dress. Though you will not attend your first dance tonight with your peers, we have decided it is only right to create an illusion of your continued, developed, presence.
I suffered a great deal of strife in my search for a dress fit to match a child so small. Your mother was inconsolable for the longest time, Dear Delilah. We deliberated on the merits of cremating you, sending the husk into an ashy void where we could no longer be struck with grief by your loss. I have grown too attached, however. It was an arduous task, but I convinced your mother to pick up sewing, and so after many long hours, she perfected her craft and weaved a dress just right for you.
Ah, you are reading this! I can feel your energy coursing through me, working as a white blood cell to rid my body of weakness. I love you with all my heart-as does your mother. We only hope you’re okay up there, playing with the rest of your siblings. Your mother is pregnant, isn’t that exciting? Soon, you shall have another sister up there, Dee. Her body shall be lined up with the other newborns, hands held. It will be beautiful, it will be paradise. Perhaps we shall join you someday, but until then, per the will of God, we must continue to populate Heaven. Happy birthday.
Alejandro Gonzales is a horror author residing in Northern California.