I'll be damned – here comes your ghost again. But that's not unusual. It's just that the moon is full and you decided to call.

-Diamonds and Rust, Judas Priest

The sound of your soft, mewling cries could pull me from the deepest, death-like sleep; part of being a woman, I suppose. But soft as they are, I hear them loud and clear. My body scrunches back under the covers – the night air is cool and the bed is so warm. Maybe if I just give you a minute, you'll go back to sleep on your own. The cry comes once more, beckoning me to come to you. Blankets are moved aside as I push upward, still lost in a sleepy daze. "I'm coming, I'm coming." I rise and stand on wobbly legs to shuffle to the kitchen and make a bottle. That's when the pain comes, soft at first, rippling from below my stomach and moving upward. My hand shoots to just above my hips and clutches my flesh tightly; sometimes pressure relieves the shooting, burning pain that serves to remind me, to mock me, to punish me.

I sit back down on the bed, not allowing the tears that want to rush from my heart and out of me. Your precious sound is gone, just like you. A dream, a memory, an echo. Nothing more. My forehead rests in my palm as I shut my eyes. It's been almost three years, but I can still see you so clearly. Your soft, chubby cheeks. Your pale, cloud-blue eyes that all babies are blessed with to start. The thin tufts of mouse-soft brown hair that promised a darker color with age. I'm awake now, there's no denying that, and if I lay back down I know all I'll have are heartbreaking dreams of you. I rise and leave, your father still sound asleep. They say that these kinds of tragedies can either ruin a couple or make them stronger; we've become stronger, thankfully, but I wish with all my soul that the cost hadn't been so high.

The hall floor is cold against my feet and the house perfectly quiet and still, the full moon casting odd shadows and highlights all over. I stand in the doorway to the room that was yours. I remember we worked so hard making it just right for you. I'm not a girly woman in any sense of the word, but when it came to you I wanted to cry with delight. From the moment I felt your existence fluttering inside of me to the first time I felt you give me a strong kick, to when I held your tiny hand as you opened your pale eyes for the first time. Did you know then how much I loved you, little one? You were my whole world.

We don't come in this room much anymore; it's mostly used as storage. But your things are still in here, along the back wall. I stand over your crib, gripping the rails in the dark. The mattress is unmade, but the blanket we wrapped you in is folded in the corner of the bed, crowned with the soft floppy-eared bunny we gave to you. Your father doesn't know, but sometimes on nights like this I do still come in here, missing you. I hold your rabbit to my chest and take a seat on an old footstool. I barely notice that I've started to rock back and forth until the pain surges up again, dully stabbing through my midsection. My shoulders lift then drop deeply as I sigh. Why, I wonder. Why did you have to leave me? You seemed just fine, and then you were just… gone. You slept all through the night, I thought, but in the morning you still weren't up. I brought your bottle and turned on the light, but you didn't move. I reached out to give you a little shake, but you still didn't move. You were so pale and your lips and eyelids that horrible, awkward shade of gray. I screamed. I begged. I cried. I tried rubbing your chest and blowing air into your little mouth. But you were gone and wouldn't come back. The doctors couldn't even explain it. "It happens sometimes," they said. "Sudden Infant Death Syndrome," they said. Hours of longwinded explanation boiling down to they don't know either.

Why, I wonder again. Why didn't it work? I was there, at the Gate, and I was right. I could feel it. But it wasn't you who came back to me, not really. All that blood for nothing. You were never coming back to me. It's been three years since you came into this world and left, leaving mine crumbling. I look up, suddenly wondering why I woke up with you on my mind so out of the blue. Where did it come from? I stand, placing a tiny kiss on the rabbit before placing it back exactly the way it was and leave the room, closing the door to my memories behind me. As I pass the kitchen I see the calendar, stopping just long enough to see what day it is. Of course. No matter how much I may try to forget, somehow my body remembers that horrible day when I tried to bring you back to me. My friends and family members told me that in time it would hurt less, and in a way, it has. But just because I don't bring it up and don't let any of them see me cry doesn't mean I've forgotten.

I still love you, and will never stop missing you. Maybe someday we'll be together again.

Love, your mother,

~Izumi

A/N: I know this may seem rather OOC for Izumi, and I do apologize. This was originally an entry from my own journal that I found while throwing out stuff from my attic. After re-reading it I thought about Izumi and felt she probably felt the same way I did – not letting anyone know it still hurts, even years later, but sometimes feeling those pains and having those dreams around the anniversary. R/R is always welcomed, appreciated and thanked.