Anona-mom

Guy pointed out the window

a few days ago.  "Look," he said, "there are four this time." 
I smiled and nodded.  I had noticed already. 

When we lost our first baby the midwife suggested we bury it in a pot and plant a fruiting tree over it.  We did, and that year, only one tiny mandarin
timidly grew on the little tree.

Oddly, after the second and then third babies were buried in the pot of the little tree,
the next season three mandarins grew.

Now there are four.  I don't know that it means anything,

but I love that it happened.