Yesterday was Mother's Day. It hasn't yet been two weeks since the evening that I did not know I was both pregnant and bleeding internally, hours away from an emergency surgery and the end of that inner flicker of life. Before the revelation and the crisis, Jonathan brought our kids to my bedside to wish me goodnight. They sang me original lullabies embellished with elements from the latest chapter of "Prince Caspian," then rode to bed on their dad's shoulders. 

In all the pain and confusion and the little death that followed, the memory of that rambunctious parting kept filling my mind, a heartening memento vivere.