Sometimes at night, when you’re crying and inconsolable, and I’m exhausted and hurting, I think about when you couldn’t cry.

When I couldn’t hold you.

When I left you at the hospital and I sat in bed weeping – my body broken and hurting – my arms empty but heavy.

I longed for moments like these.

Moments in the dead of night when you just wanted to be held.

Moments when my voice would soothe you.

Moments when your dad’s hugs would brighten your eyes.

So in these moments, I remember to hold dearly the tears and the messy, the difficult and the heavy, because they too are beautiful.

And I want to remember them.