Eight months, seven days. Too short for a life. Long enough to change one. Only parents understand this place in our hearts, in our souls, that gets bigger as our children grow.When life stops, the hallowed space stops being filled, but it continues to expand. I, like most, if not all parents who've walked this path, have no idea what to do with those expanding empty spaces.For a time, I used to wear her loss on my sleeve like an insignia of rank that set me apart. The insignia was a sign of pain. If I couldn't feel her anymore, at least I could feel the pain. It made her real when the fog of time started to erode and fade her from memory.Now, if asked, I stay silent unless I sense her story might serve a purpose. I listen to the parents talk of the challenges, the struggles of the living, of the loud, and of the silence. This is that story; from life, to death, to standing alone and empty, beyond comfort, beyond all familiarity. Then back again, in the midst of the darkness, to hope.