Jackson Samuel

Your fingers grab, one by one, at the end of my fingers holding your warm bottle
I think to myself that your legs are growing longer, and marvel at your feet kicking softly back and forth
You wait till your eyes catch mine then your lips curl into a smile around the end of your bottle
The sparkle of play in your eyes is irresistible and always makes me smile back
Your little head is warm and smells like baby, our laundry soap, oatmeal cereal, and lotion—
You’re wearing pajamas that used to be worn by your big brother
I hold you close and whisper a nightly prayer that your daddy started many months ago,
“Father, would You heal every tissue in his body?”
But now mine continues on…to ask for things like sleeping through the night, a long life, a heart of love and service to God
Every night, every time I pray it, I pause and hold you just a little longer to marvel at the gift that is you
You—my brain-injured child who isn’t
You—my child who died, but didn’t