What Makes Life so Sweet

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Isaac was looking out the window at the snow today {or maybe it was yesterday… can’t even remember now} and asked me if it was blue. I thought it was a strange question, even for a 2.5-year-old. I corrected him and told him it’s white, but then I looked out and it did, in fact, have a blueish tint. I’m guessing the bright blue winter sky was casting some sort of blue tone… or rather, the snow was reflecting the blue sky? Don’t know. All I do know is that it made me think back to a photo I shot {and later added a quote to} last winter while on a photo walk at Morton Arboretum with two photog friends. There were some shots I took at one point in the day when the clouds broke away for blue skies to show through… and this was one of them. I loved the way it looked. Imagine if the sky was green. Or magenta. Or any other color. This photo wouldn’t look nearly as calming… not to mention the sky.

I’m so glad sky is blue. Well… I’m so glad when sky is blue.

Seeing the quote I had layered with my photo one year ago seems almost… I don’t know. Not sure what word I’m looking for. Maybe prescient?

Whatever the word I’m searching for, this almost makes me sad. But peaceful, too. My baby girl’s days were short… day. But it was a sweet life she lived. She received so much care and affection. I just watched the video again tonight… twice. The one where I held her close and rocked her and sang to her and kissed her lips and touched her nose… mere minutes before she passed… crying, as I usually do when I see it. And I continually look at the photos that were taken, documenting all those hours when visitors were there to see her and say hello… and possibly goodbye.

I think about all that she experienced.

She felt the warmth of our touch, my skin… and felt the soft blanket my mom knit for her surrounding hers. She felt my finger caress her nose and her dad’s lips and mine on her tiny face and lips. She felt the cool, wet cloth that her dad brought her to dab and refresh the dry skin around her mouth. She felt her body held by the arms of many, her weight sinking into their hold.

I can only hope she knew the scent of her parents. I wish she could have smelled the pink roses that a friend brought to our room. Maybe she did…

She heard laughter in the room. She heard the voice of the friend who wrote a prayer and blessing and read them both over her. She heard her big brother talking about his toy green truck. She heard a favorite CD playing the voices she had heard once before… of Chanticleer singing Christmas music. She heard me say I love you. And her dad, too. She heard me cry and say someone needs to take care of her. She heard the sound of her own lungs grunting like a little lamb so she could get air into them. She heard our friends’ voices and our families’, too. She heard the voice of the best nurse she {or I} could have ever asked for. She heard my twin sister and me sing songs from our childhood to her.

And I can’t help but believe that she saw so much light.

She knew nothing but love.

Then, she left us while in my arms, quietly, with only her papa and me… two people who couldn’t love her more fully.

I would say that is a pretty sweet life.

I wonder if she knew just how much she made ours sweet, too… or if she knows now.

I’ll never get any of those moments back. That makes the six hours I had her sweeter than just about anything I’ve ever known, save the One whose arms are holding her now.
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