Decline

"There are moments that take our breath away. I live for these moments, by making them happen each day."

I'm sitting here on my bed. Lily is cuddled in my lap. Her soft and warm snow Leopard pjs do nothing to heat up her ice cold fingers. Just a few short weeks ago she would be in my lap cooing, smiling, smacking her lips for breast milk or Watermelon juice. Now, the hiss of the oxygen tank makes futile attempts to support her breathing. All day long her pulse ox blared removing the pleasant silence of the day. I even programmed it to only ring when her oxygen saturation goes below 19, it still went off. Lily is comfortable but exhausted. Her fuzzy dark brown hair is just longer enough to see tiny curls. Tonight we took her outside, the light blue sky matching her eyes. We watched the clouds, listened to the siblings play and sang a few songs. One by one my kids each came without prompting to cuddle Lily. Michael sang to her, Daniel told her how pretty she is, James focused on Heaven, telling Lily about it. Peter (yesterday) went to the fridge quietly and came back with one of Lily's syringes stuffed with watermelon-his attempt at making Watermelon juice. He brought it over and offered it to Lily, speaking to her in his quick, fluttering, excited tones. Sarah cuddled her, resting her head next to Lily-a few hours later she announced that she renamed her American Girl doll: Lily.

She's been cuddled her whole life. I can feel great peace in my home and surrounding my children. For that comfort of the Spirit, I am most grateful.