You Are My Sunshine

I know I should be taking advantage of the time change.  We “fell back” apparently which means the gift of an extra hour but I can’t do it with sleep.  Instead I am doing it with “Layla”.  I never even thought that gift of an extra hour would be the same weekend that I was blessed to have Layla.  So here I am, instead of closing my eyes I am lying next to my little beautiful angelic beauty.  Even if it were not for the peaceful and serene look upon her face, the even rise and fall of her chest tells me she is deep inside the world of pleasant dreams.  I can’t stop memorizing every line that outlines her being and I gently stroke that baby soft skin and silky strand of hair gently so as not to disturb her.  I want to imprint this moment in my heart forever.  It is a moment where I breathe deeply in with ecstasy the love that fills every fibre of my being.

It is so easy to forget that we don’t know Layla’s future.  We don’t live in tomorrow because we can’t.  To imagine a world without this precious, heart melting child of God is unimaginable.  I just can’t tear my eyes away, partly in fear that I will never have another one.

I sing to Layla.  She loves it.  Apparently the doctors say that because of her cortical blindness, her other senses are heightened.  She loves music.  She loves when I stroke her cheek. She loves when I take her hand and make a circle on her face.  She loves when I rub her belly. Sometimes it is just a coo and sometimes it is a smile and sometimes it is a belly laugh. 

I was singing to her.  I use to sing this song to my children and I remember tearing up at times with them,  yet I have always loved these words.

 “Sunshine, you are my sunshine

Your make me happy, when times are sad,

You never know dear, how much I love you,

So please don’t take my sunshine away”.

Most of the time I can get through this song with its soft and gentle words.  Most of the time.  But as I sang this song, and it was just Layla and me in the rocking chair; I could hear my voice catching on that last line.  I could feel the tears streaming down my face.  We were alone, just Layla and me.  No one was in danger of walking in and seeing the raw emotion of pain I knew showed nakedly from my soul. I could just feel the sobs choking and my shoulders beginning to shake.  And I just cried.  The tears flowing as I held this absolutely beautiful, breathtaking angel. I wanted to beg my God to please not take her away.  To take her from us before it is time.  I know there will be not good time for me to ever say goodbye. Because I don’t know if I will ever be ready.  And if I will never be ready.  How can my daughter ever be ready.  My daughter, the woman and girl who lights up my life.  How can she bare what she does each and every day and how can I take her pain away?

My Beautiful daughter Kaitalyne and Layla's mother.  Watching these two together brings a smile to my heart.

I can’t take the pain away from my daughter any more than any of my friends can take away mine.  I forgive my friends when they don’t call or check in on me.  I forgive them when they try to tell me to “not think of the future”.  Do they really think that I want to think of the future? Do they honestly believe that I want to spend any moment of my life dwelling on not having Layla in my life, of not knowing how I cannot do anything to lessen the pain that my daughter is going through? But I do know they don’t understand.  I know they are at a loss for words and very few people can or are willing to absorb another person’s pain.  And I know it is not a personal short-failing. To expect anymore that a person can give is wrong.

 And for that reason, I can’t stay in this place.   It would be easy to stay mad.  It would be easier to yell and scream and swear or wallow in my own place of resentment.  But I have learned over the years that resentment is a place that can destroy the beauty you can experience despite the pain.  For in that people cannot really understand the pain I am going through, they also do not get to experience that absolute wonder that I get to have when I hold that little girl.  For as much as Layla cortical blindness means that her other senses are heightened, so are mine.  For with my grief and pain comes a love that I never knew existed.  A love for the smiles of my grandchildren.  The way that I appreciate the smile of a stranger. The wonder I feel when I gaze out at the ocean.  The humbleness that I feel when I look back and see all of the ways that I have been protected in life, in spite of me. For it is because of this that I get to be the person who can without hesitation want more than anything to be there for my daughter, for her daughter, and for anyone else who lives I may have the opportunity to touch.   

My grandson Liam giving his cousin Layla a kiss.  He loves giving her love.