There are many pictures I have of who my daughter might have been. Would she be tall like me? Is it possible she would be a copy of her mother, not an athletic bone in her body but a spirit that made the world within her grasp? Could she have been the best of both of us, leaving out the things that made us scared? But the one thing you can never truly picture of a child who was lost before she had a chance of being born is what she would look like as she grew.
I have this notion that she would have gotten her mother’s green eyes. This color that you see when you look out your window watching the leaves turn. This reflection of light refracted by a soft moisture as my daughter is running through a fleshly raked pile of leaves, set out just for her to bound through. The sight of that is something I long for. As she aged everything about her would have changed, her hair, her height, her personality as she figured out who she wanted to be. It would be the color I see as she waited for her first day of school, her first date, the day she graduated, and hopefully the day she had a child of her own.
IF there were any object whose color I would want etched into the memory of my world, it would be the color of my daughter’s eyes.