Are you still awake?
Angelique rearranged the furniture, while I was catching a few minutes of sleep, so she could lie next to her mother and hold her hand. A few moments ago, when I got up to ‘spell’ her, I took Liqa’s spot and held Pam’s hand myself. I couldn’t help but listen to my wife’s breathing — just to make sure she still was breathing. While I was thus engaged it occurred to me that I had done something similar, ever so many years ago, when my daughter was a newborn. I really had no reason, then, to worry that baby Angelique would stop breathing except that — when you’re a first time parent — you tend to dwell on all the terrifying things that you read, or that you hear, about the things that might happen to your child.
You know the kind of thing I mean. About how, every now and then, some little tyke succumbs to SIDS or some other infant killer and … you know … you worry.
Or it might have been the simple fact that she was so very, very precious. Or it might have been that it just made me happy to hear her breathe. Whatever it was then, I’ve found myself doing the same thing again this morning, with Pamela.
So odd, really. I once loved a girl at the very beginning of her life and couldn’t stop thinking about how very, very precious her life was — and how precious she was. Now, after so many birthdays, and Christmases, and springtimes, and Septembers, I find — again — that I can’t stop thinking about how precious life is; only this time the girl I’m loving is at the end of her life; but even now, despite the cancer and the pain and the morphine, her life is precious; or, at least, it is to me — or, perhaps, it’s simply that Pamela herself is so precious…
At any rate, despite the fact that I’m ready to let my wife go — honestly, I really am! — I figure I might as well allow myself some little bit of happiness enjoying her while she’s still here.
God is good.
Life is good.
I really have no reason at all to be unhappy.
Love, Love, Love