Slow Dance

Tonight, when the house was quiet, Sam and I had a moment. It was just her and I, sitting in the dining room, enjoying some quiet reading. Then, a song came on.

There was a twinkle in her eye as I looked up at her. I knew what she wanted. As she reached out her hand, she asked, “May I have this dance? “ I couldn’t help but smile.

The music played as we began to twirl around the room, smiling, laughing. And then it happened. I thought of Molly.

I pulled Samantha in closer so she wouldn’t see my face. So she wouldn’t see the tears rolling down my cheeks. I didn’t want her moment to be taken away. But oh, how I wished right then and there that I was dancing with Molly.

I’ll never be able to do that again. I won’t be able to swing her around the room. This moment will never again be hers. And for that, I cried.

I refused to let anything else be taken from Samantha. So we finished our dance and she never noticed my tears. But as I went into the other room, my heart ached so deep.

I know our moments left are few, and there will be time to mourn, but I’ve already lost. And I can’t imagine what life will be like without Molly.

The four of us sat at the table tonight once Molly was in bed. Seemed wrong, and yet, this is our future. We haven’t had a meal at the table in forever. And even though I say it’s because we should all be with Molly in the living room, I suspected it’s equally as much because I can’t face it. I can’t face figuring out new seating or an empty seat. I can’t face the fact that this is what will be.

Molly is a shell of who she was. She’s partly already gone. And every day we must face that, but still hold on to what we have. It’s unimaginably difficult.

The pain is so great…

Posted May 2, 2015

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