Five Years.

Today we spent a beautiful day together. We snuggled this morning. We went for a beautiful walk in the spring sun. We sat in the grass by the river. I listened to the sound of her snorting giggle as she played.

Later she fell asleep over my shoulder. I felt the little trembles that always run through her body as she drifts off. I concentrated on the feeling of her little chest rising and falling against me.

Of course I could not stop the thoughts that ran through my head…how this time five years ago I could never have known about all of the moments that were still in front of us…the frightening ones, the beautiful ones, the astounding ones, the everyday ones…

I admired her toes as she slept, thinking of her tiny feet in the hospital room all those years ago.

Tomorrow we will go to visit the hospital to thank the people who helped save her life–as we do every year.

But that is tomorrow.

Today? Today, I know that when she wakes up she will be chatty, like she always is after a nap. She will babble and I will try to understand what she’s saying. She will smile and lean her face in close, gripping my head and fistfuls of my hair. I will burry my face in her neck and blow to make her laugh.

And that is all that matters.