All for Something
Her tiny hand curled in mine, those perfect nails, no bigger than a grain of rice, glimmered in the light of the lamp beside us. She was tiny and so very real. If I still had tear ducts I would have cried out of utter joy and sheer grief.
A glance at the ceiling revealed no change, as my son and his wife fought their own personal battle.
For years to come I would just have to look at the girl in my arms and know that this was all for something, that all the pain and suffering any of us had gone through would be for this little girl.