This morning, in the cold of an August house with windows open all night, Claudia climbed into bed with me. While picking our “wake up” music I showed her the way parenthood has turned every love song into an arrow into my mothering heart and she listened so quietly, as if she could almost take in just how much I love her and her brother and sister.

“This house is just an address, you’re my home…”

“I must’ve been Gandhi or Buddha or someone like that,
I must’ve saved lives by the hundreds everywhere I went.
I must’ve brought rest to the restless, fed the hungry too,
I must’ve done something great to get to have you.”

“Oh my heart is tangled all around you
When you’ve got trouble I’ve got trouble too…”

If I die tomorrow, you can all sit at my funeral and know that I was fine with being gone at 38, that my heart was full to bursting with love. You can all turn to one another and say, “She lived a great life full of great love and amazing friends. Her life was filled with far more laughter than tears and she didn’t need any heaven beyond this world because really, that would just be greedy, she had more than she deserved and she was lucky enough to realize it.”

And you’d all know that, no matter how short this life might turn out to be, it was more than enough for lucky, lucky me.

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