I pet his head and kiss him again, knowing it's time to go, wanting to go, but afraid of the day he'll just let me, so we cling to each other a little more.
Truthfully, the whole evening routine and especially the last 5 to 10 minutes of it have always been a challenge for me.
To scoot in the middle of our bed, after Donna died, was to inhabit sacred space. I can still feel her there sometimes, and certainly think of her there if I migrate too close to the middle.
"I'm too tired. I. Need. To. Sleep." I collapse (delicately) over my daughter. I feign magnificent snoring and thrashing, and she laughs with her whole body. It's perfect and yet some nights, the ugly secret I try to keep secret rears its nasty head.