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May 26, 2007
While making dinner and giving our daughter a bath and doing all the mundane little Saturday chores, I hold onto the image of him working in the sun. That night I reach across the bed and lay my hand over his heart, then slide it down his belly and under the edge of his shirt. But our sick baby is between us and his breath is already slow and steady. I have always envied the way he can fall asleep in seconds. I close my eyes and leave one finger resting on his hip, needing to touch him somewhere, anywhere.