He says, "This is not for you to take. It's for you to give."
Then there's the typical guilt of I'm always making note of what I take like the ride there and the ride home and how I love waiting for her at the end of the drive. I already know these are precious moments, and I get distracted by gratitude for what is.
Tonight I give you, like I know I've done before, Jeff Buckley's broken Hallelujah.
I know it's not mine to give. Nothing is, and there's something quite beautiful and incredibly tragic about not holding onto anything. Just appreciating it.
Today may have been the last time I ever saw her so I rubbed her hands and feet with the lotion on the table beside her bed and I held her hand to my head and I didn't pray because this is not about what I want. This is what is.
I am grateful for the lotion and the heartbreak. I am grateful for what it taught me about the ride tonight that her sister gave me.