Last night, while Marcus and I were playing ping pong, Bryan held Samantha as she dozed off to sleep. Samantha is such a cuddler. I love how she can make herself comfortable in people's arms. She just finds that place against your body and in your arm and curls right up. Now that she's getting bigger, it feels a little different, but she's done this exact thing since she was a baby.
Sometimes, I allow myself to go to that really horribly dark place...the place that tells me that she may one day pass away before I'm ready to let her go. It's not a good place to go to, but it happens. I somehow open the door and walk in...knowing I shouldn't, but I do anyway. And I feel so sad. I think of the last time that I may hold her like this, not knowing that the next day I won't have that chance...for the rest of my life. I think of her absence and it breaks me. Of the things I would miss about Samantha -- her smile, her giggle, her big blue eyes, her soft silky hair, her light -- it's just holding her like this that I believe I'd miss the most. When I hold her, even as she falls asleep, I feel her giggle, smile, and light...her spirit. I've experienced it nearly everyday for her life. And nothing feels just like it. No other baby or child holds himself like she does. No other baby or child has a head that is perfectly doll-like as hers is...resting against me. And that, I would sorely miss. Her, calmly in my arms. But then I come back through that grave door -- to a happier, lighter place. I enter back into life where I sincerely rejoice that she is in my life and that I have her with me now. And I giggle with her, and laugh at her funny faces. I find humor in certain situations and my faith and love grow more than I ever thought possible. This little girl taught me that the heart's capacity to love is immeasurable. And knowing that I'll be with her for eternity brings me earthly happiness and a heavenly joy that I look forward to experiencing.
I love you Sammy.