In a couple of minutes I am going to wake up my daughter, so she can get ready for Middle School Orientation.
How can this be? It was only days ago that they held her tiny body up to my face for a quick look before they whisked her off to the neonatal intensive care unit. I laid there on the operating table with tears in my eyes. I thought: This is it. Today is the day. The day everything changes. My heart was full, and my head was swimming with images of things to come.
How can this be? It was only moments ago that I dropped her off at pre-school with a snap of a photo, and a long lasting embrace. I thought: This is it. Today is the day. The day everything changes. My mind racing ahead in time, showing me glimpses of things to come. Then I sat in the car, crying, physically unable to drive away. Unable to stop the ever-so-quickly passing time.
And now, right now, I will walk into her room, sit on the side of her bed, and look down at her sweet face. I will lay my hand on her shoulder and stir her from her dreams. I will watch her as she opens her eyes, and I will say “Wake up Maggie. Today is the day.”
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