Everything
The rain, cold and crawling, drizzles in pit pats against the flagstone. The porch lights shimmer and reflect, casting shadows into the deep recesses of the giant pines. I walk slowly up and down the front path, Cecilia crying fitfully in my arms. Walking outside in the rain is a last resort in an attempt to soothe Cecilia.
And so we walk, tracing the same lines of driveway and front path, up and down, back and forth. I cradle her against my neck, shielded within warm blankets and cradled under my raincoat. We pace and I sing gently and faltering, trying to remember all the lyrics to my favorite Christmas carols.
O come, o come Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel, that mourns in lonely exile here, until the Son of God appear. . .
I reflect how I mourned in the exile of infertility, wanting a baby so badly I could barely think. And then Lizzy came to me: my miracle, my sunlight.
Rejoice, rejoice, O Israel, shall come to thee, Emmanuel.
How I rejoiced. How she was the light of my world.
Cecilia nestles against my neck, sighing in her hard-won sleep. I choke through the final lines of the carol, letting my tears mix with the rain. Lizzy, who was my everything, is gone from me. Cecilia, who is with me, is now becoming my everything.
Yes, Cecilia, can be everything to me too.
Everything, that is. . . except Lizzy.
