Nap time, and the only sign of life is the rise and fall of her ribcage. A malady so malevolent no kiss can cure, the truth comes both instantly and with a slow, steady seep. I ignore it, instead gather up this moment - close my eyes, take a deep breath and hold it in, an olfactory snapshot. As the room fills with the silver of the gloaming I match my breathing to hers, until the in and out becomes less oxygen instinct and more murmured prayer.
To abide with your child in her gradual death is to abide with yourself in part of your own.
JEB
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
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