Today your eyes opened a little bit more, and with that comes so many emotions. The first is the thrill of seeing something I've longed to see for so long. The next, and nearly instantaneous feeling is fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of what is to come...or isn't. But for the moment, I'm going to pretend that none of this is happening. Because I saw you for the briefest moment. You looked at me, and I knew you were in there.
What if we get up and fly away from here. I'll disconnect all the tubes and wires. I'll carry you out the front door and we can go anywhere you want. We'll read your favorite books, play your favorite games, and sing your favorite songs. We'll pretend that they're all still your favorites. We'll eat ice cream and just lie in the grass and look up at the sky.
What if I don't want to hear what the numbers mean anymore?
What if I never discover the result to THAT special test that could mean letting you go?
What if I don't WANT to let you go?
What if tomorrow, no one could find us, but we knew that we were exactly where we needed to be?
What if I have low moments where I wonder what I'll do with your clothes, or your toys? What do I do with your toothbrush if you aren't there to use it?
What if you've touched so many people that you aren't allowed to leave? Not just yet.
What if anger, fear, and fatigue replace rational thought sometimes and I stop reading and asking questions?
But, what if I'd never had the pleasure of meeting you? Had never nursed you, held your hand, or sang to you? What if I'd never known what it meant to bypass using a comb and just run my fingers through your beautiful mop of curl? What if we hadn't been given that second chance for me to get to know what an amazing fighter you are? I know "what." I know that my heart would have a hole. I wouldn't have known unconditional love from family, friends and strangers, as I do now. People may not hug their children as often. The may not know to open their hearts in this way. I'm grateful for every breath you take, but if there comes a day that breathing is too much, you just let me know. We'll have our secret conversation, as we've done many times before. And I'll live with my "what ifs", because you've given me so many "I knows."