I
know that Nicholas cannot ever tell his Daddy whathe remembers while he
was with him in that precious week of his life, but if he could, I think
it might say something like this:
I
remember you, Daddy, standing over my crib
in
your blue fuzzy jacket, your long hair
hanging
loosely in your face.
I
remember the way your eyes, brown behind
thick
lenses, would glaze with tears because
you
were amazed with me and because
you
were were scared that I was in pain and in danger
of
leaving you and Mommy.
I
remember your voice, calm and soothing,
as
you told me stories of my family and
your
childhood--never relenting, always hopeful.
I
remember your touch on my head and feet
as
you tried to make me feel safe; your soft caress,
smoothing
my wrinkled forehead as I struggled to survive;
and
your finger, so much larger than my own,
cradled
in my grasping palm.
I
remember when you held me for the first time,
taking
turns with Mommy, careful to hold me close;
and,
when you held me last, in those final minutes as
I
took my remaining breaths--I knew you were there,
