A Sunday Afternoon

I love to watch her sleep.

Gone is the usual chatter, the excited giggles, and the inviting smile.  Gone are the constant questions, the boundless energy, and the bubbly personality.

At rest. . . she is peaceful. 

On Sunday afternoon she fought the nap.  It was a rare afternoon when even Charlie succumbed to the exhaustion of what had been a nonstop couple of days.  She is strong, though, and insisted that a nap was unnecessary. She fights it and bargains her way from the bedroom to the most special of spots. 

She slides in next to him and rests in the comfort of his shoulder.  She lays her delicate head on his strong shoulder and nestles in the space beside him.  She looks so small next to him and she gets lost in his size. She tosses and turns for a time and fights the sleep that we know she needs.  It doesn’t take long before her heavy eyes disappear behind her lids and her face relaxes in peace. 

And for a moment I stare in awe of these two people who I call my own.  Father and Daughter. . .a bond so deep and complex that words fall short. I allow myself to imagine, just for a moment, what it will be like when she’s 8 or 13 or 17 or 32 and wonder what it will be like then.  I stop myself, though, and I simply watch and well up with thankfulness that they have each other.  As I stare at the rise and fall of her chest I know that she’s been given one of the greatest gifts of all time in this man that adores her.  She doesn’t know it yet, but I know that his role in her life is invaluable. 

Moments like these?  They mean something.  They mean something big. It is because of moments like these that she will understand what it means to be loved.  She will know what it feels like to be adored.  She will not settle for less than what she deserves. . . to be cherished. 

And that, my friends, brings me peace.