Write about something you woud still buy if it cost twice as much as it costs today

Burial Vault
The granite burial vault holds the tiny body of my baby. It's been two years since we laid her to rest. Two years for me get used to her name on the grave. But it still feels too fresh to be real.
I place my palm against the cool rock. It warms under my skin. I think of my baby, how her body is as cold as the stone I'm touching. How it should be warm like my body instead.
Too many wishes crowd my mind. Wishes of life. Wishes of smiles. Wishes of hugs. Kisses. All the things children are made of. If only I could experience those things with my precious child. But I'll never know if she'd stick out her tongue if I said something funny. Or if she'd hold my hand if she was scared. She will never need me like a child needs her mother, because she's not here. But I am. Alone. Wanting. Wishing for a life unknown.
A tear slips down my cheek. The wind chills the trail it leaves. I shiver and pull my coat tighter.
How do I go on? How do I keep moving forward when my life has come to a halt? How can I help others when I can barely help myself?
I send up a silent prayer, asking for strength. Strength to keep going. Strength to live another day. Strength to smile when all I want to do is cry.
I pull my hand away and stare at it. If she's not in my hands, then I pray she's in God's hands. That she's with my father, sister, grandparents, uncles, cousins, all my relatives and friends that  have graduated from this life.
She must've been perfect. So perfect that she didn't need this life to be perfected.  I cling to that hope, for now, even though my hands are empty, my heart is full of love and longing for this precious child I will have to wait to hold until I join her in paradise.