But, with all of that, there is a calm, a sense of peace, a desire to live in the moment when I am with Emma. Surely I have lived most of these moments before - the night-time feedings, the numerous diaper changes, the baths, the innumerable chores and duties and obligations punctuated by milestones, and sprinkled with enjoyable moments that, when added up, equals a childhood. However, never before was a child of mine so close to no longer being - so close to death. Never before had I had to face the possibility of losing a life that had just become mine to have.
In almost losing Emma I learned to value life. I have learned to slow down and enjoy those moments which once seemed so ordinary and mundane. That which might have irritated me once - the raspberries she was blowing tonight, through a mouth-full of sweet potatoes, for example - does not bother me now. I am thrilled she can blow raspberries, and that she can eat sweet potatoes.
I watch her watch her hand - open and close, open and close - or I watch as she tries to catch her foot in the tub - not so easy when it is attached to you, and, with each move you make, it slithers away - and I am in awe. This little girl very nearly died - I was right there, right next to her, as her platelets dropped, and her lungs were being crushed by the air inside of her. What could have happened would have been horrific to have witnessed - I know that now. Thank God I did not know it then. And thank God for what I am able to bear witness to now - a miracle of triumph over illness, the blessing of be able to experience with greater understanding and appreciation the wonder of the development of the child ... and the remnants of sweet potato raspberries all over my dining room rug.
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