To someone I miss

I'll break my rule for you, I wrote you a love letter on August 10th, 2009. 16 days before you died. We were in the _____ sitting on the bed that you and ____ slept in, that you and ____ wrestled in, that you and I took pictures in, and that we all cuddled in. This is what I wrote:

Hey girl, I am so proud of you. You have put up with so much in your life, and have bloomed despite being planted in the shade and deprived of water. I think you are beautiful, SO beautiful, no matter how much the numbers make you nervous. You are full of warmth and life and color, and are no longer withering away. What a beautiful Iris you are! I'm a big fan of how far you've come. BIG fan.

Here to say you've ROCKED IT,
Sunshine

___, I called you an Iris. Iris, in Greek mythology, represents lost love and silent grief, for young girls were led into the afterlife by Iris. It's also a flower, which is how I meant it, of many colors. But ____, some Iris plants only bloom just before they die.

Why did I have to call you an Iris? We grow them in our garden. Each plant shoots up a tall, brilliant red blossom, and then it dies.

Sunshine.