Another Father's Day sees me watching over a sick child. While sad in itself, it is a strong reminder of the wonderful responsibility with which I have been entrusted. This was written three years ago.
As I look down on the small, frail body of my four year old son,
he seems thinner and weaker than I have ever noticed him to be before.
Certainly his life is not in danger, but he is enduring discomfort.
I reflect on the fact that I spend another father's day watching my
child sleep in a hospital bed, (after the problem with my daughter
the previous year), and while my initial reaction is anger at the
supposed god who lets this happen, the sight of other children around
me with obviously much more serious conditions than my own child reminds
me once again that I am extremely lucky to have healthy children.
I recall the several friends who had close shaves with birth defects, and worse.
I think of what my own mother went through with the loss of one of her sons.
I want to hug my kids.
I want to thank them.
I want to cry.
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