My daughter loves the rain. She sits at the windowsill and prays for it, her beautiful brown eyes fixed on the sky. My husband and I never understood her obsession with it, for with rain, came mess. The rain would bring us muddy boots and paws, which my daughter and our faithful dog would track through the house. The rain brought colds, which started from our daughter and quickly spread to the adults. The rain brought mud pies, soaked clothes, wet dogs, dirty floors, upset fathers, worried mothers, and a happy little girl. Yes, our happy little girl, who has the biggest smile around. She laughs at her father and I for fussing over her, the colds dont even phase her. She just sits by the window sill and prays for more rain. She said she likes the sound of it, the way it smelt, how it felt as though she was being set free. Our daughter was six. Our sweet little Adaline was six when she passed away, advanced melanoma was too much for her to handle. Now when it rains, I dare not be upset, for I feel her presence. Each raindrop on my face is a kiss, the cold wind is an embracing hug sent down by her to let me know shes okay. My husband and I swear we can hear her laughter, her sweet little voice, and most importantly, we see our daughter when it rains.

I loved this <3