21 March 1691, Monday
We buried Mary this day. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. To the clay of the Earth we shall all return. Perhaps tis to some purpose, but I cannot say right now what that purpose might be.
Twas hard, too hard. Some say we should not become attached to small children since they die so often, but I cannot see how you do not attach your heart to your own. We love our small ones no matter how little time they have on Earth. We cannot help it. They are closest to God, after all, but newly come from Heaven. And twas heartening to see many from the Village, even some from the Town, come to pay their respects. When people asked how she died, we had no answer. I’m not sure it matters. Mary is not here anymore. What else is there to know? Lizzie aches and that is my main concern.
