Laurel

We named our daughter Laurel after the mountain laurel which blooms its clusters of white-pink chalices on twisted branches, clinging to the wooded, rocky New England hillsides. 

A far cry from the bright lights, loud beeps, painful probes, and clear, living coffins of the NICU.

We'll spread her ashes somewhere peaceful like the wood, where the air smells of sweet leaves and rich earth.  Here she'll find peace, warmed in the dappled green sunlight of summer, safe in her red and yellow cathedral of autumn, at rest beneath her blanket of snow and silver moonlight in winter, blooming with renewal every spring to warm our spirits.