Grace

The problem with Grace is that she isn't here.  Which is more of a problem for us than it is for her.  Because in her not-being-here she is so painfully present.  She is in the absence and the silence.  In the should-have-beens and would-have-beens.  In the row of heads around the table and the almost perfect family photo.  She doesn't run or walk or play among us, her footsteps frustratingly elusive as milestones go ambling by.  She doesn't speak or sing or tell stories, but her voice is the one we almost hear, heads spinning around before we remember that the problem with Grace is that she isn't here.