It's 5:30 in the morning and Che and I sit on the sofa in a sea of candles we've lit so our living room glows softly.
She's plays on her I-Pad as I listen to music streaming through ear buds, surfing Spodify.
I look at Che who's looking at me.
"I'm gonna miss you too," I reply, smiling. She returns the grin before resuming her game.
I'm up most night dealing with side effects from Chemotherapy. Che religiously gets up with me and I've grown to cherish the time before the sun smiles on another day.
She's also been having nightmares where I disappear and she can't find me.
She cries.
I comfort her.
Then I cry because her dream will come true way before either of us is ready.
"I'm going to miss you Da," she repeats and I see her staring at me.
A tactic of counseling is when you hear something you don't understand, you repeat it hoping to draw more information from the client. I don't know what to do with Che's words so I repeat them to her.
"I'm gonna miss you Che."
She smiles, returning attention to her I-Pad.
Sarah and I work hard to make life "normal" for her while we navigate the treacherous waters of the American Health care system with a terminal diagnosis.
"Normal" means cancer isn't our primary focus so we get on with life as though everything's just as it should be for a 5 year old girl.
"You want some of 'Mom's favorite toast'?" I ask trying to regain control of normal.
"I'm gonna miss you Da."
Frustrated I respond louder than I intend, "Why are you going to miss me Che? What's happening?"
Her bright blue eyes dance in the candlelight.
"PRANK!" she gleefully explains. "I'm going to miss you at school today!"
"Why you!" I grin before tickling and hugging her tightly.
She squeals happily in my arms.
"Life is good Che-Bay," I pronounce as though I'm extending an invitation to join us at the alter.
