This night, last year, was the last night I would ever kiss my sweet baby good night. I remember Sten brought her to see me after she had her snack and we snuggled for just a minute because I was in lots of pain and had a fever. He carried her to her room, just on the other side of our wall and I could hear him singing to her (he always got carried away and I sometimes thought the whole neighborhood could hear him. What I would give to hear that sound again.) she was giggling and asking a million questions. I distinctly remember wishing they’d be quiet. I didn’t feel good. Couldn’t they just turn it down a bit. He loved bedtime with her. She loved her daddy.
Many times in the last year I have heard echoes of her voice just on the other side of that wall. Singing, giggling, talking to her puppy. Sometimes, when it’s quiet here and I’m alone, I will sit and listen for her or go into her room and wrap myself in her blankie and sing Baby Mine to her. I try to remember every single time I rocked her. I regret those nights that I rushed through because I was tired, spent. Just one minute longer. One night more.