It occurs to me that the hardest thing I deal with, as a parent, on a daily basis is the knowledge that at anytime, this beautiful warm safe bubble could burst.
After a lifetime spent assuring me he was a tough nut and would survive his heart condition long enough to see me grow old, my father died in 2009. It still burns hot and low in my stomach when I think of the empty bed my step mother wakes up in every morning. Suddenly all the dull things that clutter a life and at the time are easily swept aside, seem like magical talismans: The sweat stains on the couch he used to sit in, the worn spot on the rug where his feet used to rest, the tiny lamp table that used to be home to a half eaten packet of ginger nut biscuits, insulin and a packet of spearmint Extra. I remember the ward he died in, and it seems strange to think what was a routine hospital visit became the last time I ever got to hear him tell me how proud he was to be my father.
At night when I go to sleep I hold my husbands hand, and I simply cannot stop myself thinking, what if this is the last time I get to do this?
Hunter learns something new and a little voice says "Don't stop watching him- you might never see this again".
There are sad things that actually happen in life, and one of them is the wasted hours spent dwelling on things that may never happen...