About three and a half years ago...

She is breathing. I know this from the barely perceptible rhythmic raising and falling of her stomach. I still have my hand tightly on the doorknob. I linger in the doorway, marvelling at this little body, the wisps of hair moving in the breeze from the fan, the sheer improbability of anyone being able to sleep in that position. She is half on her back, with both arms stretched out behind her. Her head is tilted backwards too, at almost ninety degrees. One leg is stretched out straight; the other comically hangs over the railing of the bed. And yet she looks at peace; she looks more comfortable that I can ever remember being. There’s a multi-coloured stuffed elephant behind her, its trunk loosely grasped in her fingers. I move closer, conscious of the noise I make in doing so. Her open mouth quivers, her fingers clench on the elephant trunk, eliciting a crackling noise from the filling designed to do just that. I freeze. Too late. One foot kicks free of the bed railing and the other stretches theatrically. She turns her head minutely and opens one eye. She sees me and smiles widely before holding out one hand. Something inside me melts.