Saturday, May 28, 2005

Snapshot

I am sitting on the couch in our livingroom, holding my sleeping daughter, curled up on my chest. I tell my left hand, remember the smoothness of her skin, the softness of her hair and cheeks, the weakness of your fingers, unwanted but real. The truth. Right arm, remember her hand curled up into a fist, resting along the bend of your elbow. The strength you still have to hold her. Right hand, remember the soft, cushiness of her diaper, her tiny cotton pants. The rhythm as you pat her back. Chest, remember the warmth of her body, the up and down flex as she breathes. Nose, remember the scent of her hair, her milky breath, the faint smell of recent dinner from the kitchen. Eyes, remember the lids of her own as they slowly open and close, the flaring of her nostrils, the twilight through the windows. Ears, remember her sigh, as she stretches and settles deeper into sleep, the silence of the living room, the slight clink of dishes as Kirsten prepares the kitchen sink for a bath. Legs, remember lolling back and forth, filled with energy and anxiety. Feet, toes, remember the hard surface of the wooden floor, the solid balance you still maintain for your body. Lips, remember the warmth, the smoothness, the exquisite tenderness of her head as you kiss it. Mind, remember this moment is real, no matter what the future, and will be etched into you for the rest of your life. A fact. A truth. As fond a memory as you will ever record. And heart, remember the the warm glow, the purity of joy in this moment, the monumental love which brought Eva into this world, and will surround her for the rest of her life. God, universe, remember this instant in time, and know that it was wonderful.

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Scott, your descriptions of feelings take us to an important
and needed level. All any of us have is now. Would that we remember that and then perhaps more of us could "hold" the Eva in our life.

Anonymous said...

Well said Scott. Very powerful and true. I too have a fear of "forgetting" these moments. I fear that no matter how much I cling to every scent and touch and feel...they will fade away.

Then I realize how blessed I truly am. To hold a little miracle in my arms...a piece of me...a piece of us. To be surrounded by people who I truly love and care about, and know they feel the same. To have a true appreciation for life...the here and now. My fears soon vanish. Stricken with ALS, yet somehow so much more fortunate than so many others.

All my best to you, Kirsten and Eva.

Your brother in the fight.
-Brian Stanfield

Anonymous said...

This entry is one of the most beautiful and profound bits of writing I have read in a very long time. Thank you for your strength to write it.