It is just before 6 am. In the silence of the predawn stillness the only sound I am aware of is her breathing.
Her cheek rests against my skin and her tiny fingers grasp a fistful of my shirt. her eyelids flutter open and closed, open and closed.
We sit together in the stillness and rock in our chair.
I could go back and crawl in under the covers and try to steal a few more minutes of sleep, but these moments with her will never be mine again, so I stay.
She breathes. I breathe. I close my eyes and feel the weight of the little bundle in my arms. She fits perfectly and it seems as though my arms have been designed by God just for this.
No, I don't want to sleep.
I want to make this memory stay. I want to shove every little detail into a little box and put it somewhere safe and never, ever lose it.
Something tightens in the base of my throat, and my heart begins to beat in a painful little way.
Thankful beyond words, I hope my Father above hears what I cannot say.