My wife and I were hanging out own the couch, chatting about a variety of topics from a local townhall on Agenda 21, gun control and what color of laminate flooring would look nice in our entry hallway and we looked over to see our two cats lazily lounging in each’s favorite spot bathing. They were so content, lulled into peaceful complacency by our dreams, our conversation and our simple quiet life. She said, “look at them, contented and happy” with a sad smile.
That’s when it hit me, like a sucker punch right in the gut: we had said that about our daughter. When they (my wife and daughter) were in the hospital we had a nightly ritual. The floor that my wife was on listed visiting hours at 9pm which meant I had to leave but since our daughter was in the NICU they would allow us stay visit as we wanted. So we would go and sit in her little room say hi to our little fighter and talk about our dreams, hopes and plans, just like we had while she was in the womb. Her nurses would always comment that before we got there things would be a little out of whack, a little agitated, working against the vent a bit, but as soon as we got there she’d calm down, eased into peace by our presence. They would then step out to give our little family time to be just that. Even with lines and tubes coming out of her little body she was peaceful when we were there. It is some of my best memories of her.
I realized my eyes had welled up and I saw tears in my wife’s eyes too. Even though it’s been over 6 years since she was born and we experienced something I wouldn’t wish on anyone and even when I think that I’ve healed from it, something comes along to remind me (us). If she was alive today I can’t begin to imagine how different our life would be. Luckily we still have our memories and even though they hurt sometimes, it’s nice to have them.