Really? It is a Circle.

When you bury your parents in your twenties parts of you die. You leave them in the ground or at sea. In the beginning, you barely notice the pieces are missing because the pain has you shattered. Then as the years roll by you change, your subconscious lets go of those dreams you used to have of moments that will never be. You let them go and in their place you harden. You think, "I’m fine, I can do this, I’m just growing up and moving on." Only you’re blindly stuck in the concrete of loss.

Then suddenly a baby is in your life and you throw open those vaults you thought you’d never visit again. The joy comes flooding back sweeping you out of the doldrums and life appears new and bright, albeit covered in baby spew. I’m never going to be someone’s mother I’ve always known I am much too selfish for that, but I will be someone’s Aunt Slappy. I can still build forts, believe that fairies are real and know the way to Narnia. Adventure lies ahead and lucky for Lily I’ve still got my toys.